The 19th Law of Pureblood Engagement
by Featherstrike
Summary: Hermione's got a brand new life. At last with her real family, she will finally be able to rub Malfoy in the face for everything he has put her through because of her supposed mudblood situation... But it seems he has some big news for her as well... Read
1. Chapter 1: A Brother's Mistake

**Note: **I don't own Harry Potter... yaddy yaddah... you know the drill. :P

Chapter 1: A Brother's Mistake

Sun.

The first thing she could see as she woke up. Since when did sun dare enter her room as she lay asleep in her bedroom? With no window, how could it be?

But then she remembered. She wasn't in her bedroom. Well, yes, she was, _technically_. After all, she was now in her true home.

She still couldn't believe it, though. After, what, ten years of waiting, wishing, she was finally free. In her true home, with her true family. In a bedroom with windows. No more stupid cousins experimenting with her old dolls, no more lies about her origin. No more servant-like life. No more teasing from Malfoy, too. She hoped he would be knocked off by the news. Oh, how she loathed him... should she make him regret all the mudblood business coming from him, or... do something else, in a more bloody way?

No, she wasn't like that. No one should be like that, she thought.

Then she was to take care of the matter with her friends. She hoped with all her heart they would forgive her for the lies she had been forced to tell them all along, even if she was about to tell them everything, and she meant _everything_, from now on. Maybe Harry would be a little mad. And Ron?

As she thought about Ron, her insides burned like fire. She had been angry with him for two weeks now, and still hadn't forgiven him. What he did was still unbearable for her to think about for more then a little second. Then maybe... just maybe... she wouldn't tell him just now. But heck, she was sure as hell to write to Ginny about that!

Oh, no. Did she just swear in her mind, just like Ron? Oh no, no, no, no. That couldn't be. That disagreement sure looked to be taking some good importance to her if she began thinking the way Ron used to talk.

"Granger! Get downstairs my dear, your brother has some great news to tell you!" she heard her true mother yell, then giggle.

She wasn't really comfortable with that, as with some other things too. Being called Granger –it wasn't her last name anymore, but her middle one- by a mother she hardly even knew wasn't something you would get used two in a matter of minutes, even if you had a brother who helped you like he could best.

"I'm coming, Imelda!"

Imelda. Her true mother's name. She couldn't get used to that either. Who in his or her right mind would call a daughter _Imelda_? To her, it was one of the worst names ever. But, well, her name was one of a kind in some way... she seemed to be lucky in the names department. Her mother's one was Imelda, her brother was called Edward Frances –two names, was it really necessary?-, her father was Herry –not Harry, like her best friend, but _Herry_, with an _e_– and herself... she had been called Hermione for a long time now, but she was now Hermione Granger, with two names like her brother. Strange, really, how names could seem so important now that they were so... surreal. Because they seemed surreal. To her, at least.

But enough of that. She had hoped for this to happen, then she had to accept some little things –like strange names– and stop complaining like a whinny little girl.

So she jumped into a pair of loose jeans, put on a black top with red and pink writing on it, and rapidly got out of her room with nothing on her feet.

Wrong move.

One thing they had warned her before she got home was that it wasn't like a muggle house –it was a magic house, after all. And one thing to know about that one particular house was that you couldn't run barefooted, or some _things_ would happen.

_Oh shit_, she barely had the time to think before the floor under her started to become all mug-like.

"Oh my god! What _is_ this?" She exclaimed to no one in particular, as everybody was downstairs waiting for her.

Since she stopped running, the floor stopped the phenomenon it started before and recovered his first appearance. She then walked more carefully, and more _slowly,_ to the stairs, went down to the main room, and started to gawp like a fish before what laid in front of her.

"Oh my god," did she say for the second time.

"I know your birthday was 5 months ago, but I couldn't resist. Do you like it?", her brother asked.

"Of course I like it!", did she reply. "I mean, it's so... so... wow!"

"Edward thought dozens of book weren't enough for you, so he bought an entire library, as it appears," murmured her father, a little smile playing on his lips.

He looked at her with his rich chocolate eyes –the same as hers– and she could see he was quite amused from his son's gift to his sister. At the age of 19, Edward was early in business, and a good one at that. A very, very, very good business, as she understood. She remembered he worked on something affiliated with wizard's schools, but she couldn't put the finger on it. She just... forgot.

"Thank you so much, Edward! It means a lot to me!", she hugged him with happiness.

"Oh well... in fact, it's more because I wanted you to forgive me for something I did lately..."

"Forgive you what?"

Her body stiffened as she became suspicious. She had seen him yesterday for the first time in her life. How could he have done something bad in less than a day?

"Well... you know, it wasn't really my fault, it was more of my _friend_'s, you see..."

"Get on with it, _Franky_."

She discovered he hated his middle name. And hated it even more when someone used it to make it a nickname.

"Humph. Well... you know, in pureblood families, we actually kept the 'arranged marriage' tradition, and..."

"Do you mean you arranged a marriage which would include _me_?"

She couldn't believe it. What was it with men these days? First Ron, then her own brother?

"No, no, no, don't worry, it's not that! In fact, I... well, my _friend_, I mean, he... hum... thought it would be _funny_ to introduce _you_ in a way that would make you available to any pureblood guy who would seek a _marriage contract_, and..."

"And when does your _friend_ want to introduce me like that, Frances?"

Oh well. She wasn't quite pleased, but not too angry at him either. So she used his second name, but no nickname. Deal.

"Tonight."

That was it. The library wasn't a big gift enough now. He was to regret it. Or his _friend_ would regret it.

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So... How did you like it? Oh, about the title... I know I haven't explain anything about the "19th Law" yet, but it's coming. Okay, since it's my first fic, I'd really appreciate it if you could give me some reviews here... AND if you're nice enough (:P) I'll give you the next chapter soon! So, you know what you need to do... get on with it then! (Nah, just kidding!) See ya folks!

Featherstrike

... and D


	2. Chapter 2: Beware, the Ball Will Take Pl

**Note:** Hey! So, it seems you guys were nice enough... and here is the second chapter already! I think I'm too good for you ;)Anyway...on with it! Oh... no I don't own Harry... but I do own the plot! (I made some small corrections... thanks to Firnoviel!)

Chapter 2: Beware, the Ball Will Take Place

Two hours.

Hermione had two hours until the ball started in her honour. No, scratch that; in the honour of any pureblood guy's father who would want their son to marry her.

Hurray.

At least some of them were excluded. The Crabbes, Goyles, Malfoys on this earth wouldn't want any business to do with her considering what they thought she was for 6 years now. She had been a mudblood to them for six years. Even if the truth was to be revealed now, they would surely not accept it in a day and decide that they wanted her to marry their beloved soon-to-be-death-eater son.

She stood still in front of the dress she and her mother had bought soon after her brother had announced the news. It was green and black, with complicated designs in the back that won her the instant she saw them. They seemed to reflect light in different colors. Gorgeous!

Now she had to prepare herself for the ball. To put on the dress hadn't been difficult. But everything else, she thought, would be a mess. She wasn't good with cosmetics, and she didn't have the courage to redo her hair the same way she had in her fourth year at the Yule Ball.

She heard a soft 'pop!' and a house-elf appeared before her. She hadn't thought worth it to continue her activities in S.P.E.W. as she finally understood house-elves didn't want freedom, but she made sure every time she saw one, to be as polite as possible, like she would be with her family or friend.

That one's name was Farray. She was an energetic female house-elf, acting like a ball full of electricity. She was the one in charge for her mother's toilet; Hermione hoped Farray would do something splendid on her as well.

Happily, it was magnificent. She hardly recognised herself in the mirror. The hair... the hair! It was what she had dreamt of all her life. The hair she had always wanted.

Maybe the ball idea wasn't so bad after all, if it was an excuse good enough for Farray to do her hair so wonderfully. Hermione was glad of the result. She thanked Farray like mad, and continued looking at her reflection when the house-elf disappeared from her room. She was amazed. And every guy would be amazed too, (especially if he knew what she normally looked like). Like Harry. At least Harry was invited to the ball. She hoped greatly he would come, even if the invitation was somewhat strange. What would she do if a complete stranger invited her to a surprise ball in honour of her best friend?

She slowly got up from where she was sitting, sighed, and looked outside one of the windows in her room. People were coming already. She saw Blaise Zabini first, with his dad and sister. Then Neville Longbottom (she asked herself what was wrong in the world if even him was looking forward to marry her) and his grandmother came in view. And she saw Harry too, with all the Weasley family. Yes! Even if it meant she would see Ron, she was in heaven. She wouldn't be forced to talk to snob I'm-too-good-for-you pureblood boys and their mighty fathers all night long if her friends were with her.

She quickly went downstairs –with her shoes on, luckily– and saw people coming in. She waited some time before seeing Harry and Ginny entering the house, with a surprised look on their face. They're probably asking themselves why they're here, she thought. She smiled playfully before coming to great them.

"Hey, guys," she simply said, twinkles in her eyes.

"Hermione! Why did you ask us to come to this ball? We don't even know the girl who's gonna be introduced tonight," said Harry first.

"Wow, Hermione! I like your dress! Where'd you get it?" asked Ginny.

"Oh well," she said. "Seems like you guys are gonna have a fit when I tell you everything... but first, let me introduce you to the kitchens, where we won't be bothered!"

She led them to the kitchens as rapidly as possible (she didn't like to be rude, but social issues were not the most important thing here, so guests would have to wait if they wanted her to greet them) and closed the door when Harry and Ginny were inside with her. She took a big breath before starting:

"First, let me tell you it wasn't my fault if you didn't know. My parents forbade me to tell anyone about it, and I didn't have the heart to do otherwise."

"Hermione, what are you talking about?"

"I'm not... I'm not Hermione Granger, muggleborn. My name's Hermione Granger Vandemoortele, and I was adopted. I'm a pureblood. I learned about it when I was 5 or 6 years old. I'm sorry guys, I couldn't tell you, but..."

"Hey, it's okay. Maybe it explains some things..." tried Ginny.

"Explain what?" she stopped playing with her hands and looked up to her girl friend in surprise.

"Well... I mean, even with your nose in a book every second, you couldn't know everything about the magical world like you do, Mione..."

"Oh, was all she could answer. Then... you're not mad at me for lying to you for 6 years?"

"Nope. You had good reasons," said the two others.

Oh, happy, happy day! The biggest fear of her day was erased now that she knew they accepted it greatly. Even if the moment was awkward (because it was), she was glad anyway. Alas, Ron had to come in to see what they were doing.

"Hey, hum, Mione... Are you still mad at me, or..."

"Yes, I am," she replied through gritted teeth. All good feelings had fled her mind the second she saw him. If she still couldn't forgive him when she was so glad, how could she later? Serious issues were coming their way... She eyed him as furiously as one could possibly do, said to Harry and Ginny she would see them later, and walked past Ron to go talk to her brother.

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Hey folks! Hope you liked this one! I am soooo sorry that the explanation still hasn't been made about the "19th Law"... but please, stick with me... it's coming in the next one! So... you know what to do: reviews please!

Featherstrike

... and D


	3. Chapter 3: I Hate You Let's Marry!

**Note:** Why, hello there! So... yet another chapter! And, finally, after the wait (which was NOT long at all), the mysterious law is revealed... Mind you, I love the title of this chapter! XD Anyway, thanks again to wonderful D and Firnoviel... I couldn't do this without you guys! Okay, here goes!

Chapter 3: I Hate You. Let's Marry!

The rest of the night went great with the exception of the last hour. Hermione had seen fathers, mothers, sons and cousins; she hoped it would finish soon. She was really getting bored by all the stupid conversations everyone seemed to enjoy. Politics weren't the subject she would have chosen at this hour of the night when all she could think of were her growing headache and lack of sleep. She needed her 10 hours of sleep right away.

"Are you okay, Granger?"

The sound of that voice seemed familiar. She wondered who already knew her middle name –now her ex-last name– so well to use it so normally... until she saw who it was and mentally slapped herself to have forgotten about him.

"Malfoy. How... surprising to see you here."

She tried her best to stay calm. Was he to make fun of her again? He couldn't use the mudblood subject anymore, nor could he with 'buckteeth' for some years now. What would he find now to annoy her?

"Tut tut, Granger. I know you wanted me to come," he said with his annoying trade-mark smirk and confident tone.

"Oh, yes, you're right," she responded with a fake smile. "So I could literally swoon over you like a mad squid and squish you like a puppy until you couldn't _breathe_. Yes, after all... you just might be right."

"Granger, you hurt me right there," he said pointing his heart.

"Good. So can you go to the infirmary and stay away from me?"

"No."

That, she expected a bit. He was here to annoy her, after all. And his mere presence alone was sufficient to annoy her greatly.

"In fact... I came here to see you." He flashed her a cocky smile.

"Hurray. Let me jump of joy in the middle of my room upstairs where you _won't be with me_."

She made a move to go away, but he took her firmly by the hand.

"No, Granger, you can't leave me like that. I need to talk to you of important matters."

He leaned in so he was inches from her face and murmured dangerously:

"And you need to listen to me, my dear, if you know what is good for you."

He looked her in the eyes. Pool of icy metal into a swirl of chocolate ones; time seemed to stay put for a moment, before he stopped his gaze and led her to an empty room near them. What had she gotten herself into, now? Where was Harry when she needed him, anyway?

He closed the door, locked it –at that point she became nervous– and stood before her. He was taller than she remembered. He had stopped smirking the moment they were alone; a serious expression was now across his face.

"You see, Granger, my father is in jail―"

"I wonder why," she said, rolling her eyes.

"As I was saying," he said looking at her menacingly, "since he's in jail, my family has lost some... reputation. And _we_ don't like that. And, as you're so amazingly brilliant, I'm gonna ask you a question: what would the son of a Death Eater do to regain some good reputation with the ministry and magical world in general?"

"Hmm... He would prove he isn't a Death Eater like his father?" she tried uncertainly. She didn't know what was so important about it. What was she to do about it?

"Yes, exactly. That's where you come in, Granger."

"Oh, really," she thought bitterly to herself.

"You," he said pointing her, "are a pureblood, but everybody thought you were a mudblood for quite a long time. Plus, you're Potty's best friend, and you are sure to fight against the Dark Lord. So, in order to save my reputation, I will make you an offer."

"What is it, Malfoy?"

"Marry me."

"WHAT? _This is all in my head. Or it's a nightmare. Or another dimension where people are crazy. This is not my reality, there's just no way it is..."_

"Let me explain: if I marry you, my reputation is safe. And Pansy will stop bugging me. And," he added as she was ready to protest, "it has good impacts on your life too, Granger."

"Oh yeah?" she snorted. "Like what?"

"Like the fact you won't have to marry Longbottom. Because I know for a fact that you wouldn't like to marry him, would you?"

The thing is... he was right. But she didn't want to marry him either, so...

"And I'll be the best husband I could be, even if it involves no adultery."

"You are so wonderful..." she rolled her eyes at him again.

"And," he added finally, "I'll even push the luck as to ignore the 19th law of the marriage contract."

"Which is?" she asked, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"To make an heir before the husband is 21 years old."

At that, her eyes went popping out of her head (actually they didn't, but... well, that's what she imagined they would do in a comic). A murderous thought went to her brother who decided to put the whole 'marriage contract' thing in action, brother who, even if not near her, sensed shivers going down his spine for a strange, unknown reason.

"So, what do you say?" Malfoy asked her.

"Do you actually think I'm gonna marry you just now?" she practically cried in frustration and disbelief.

Oh, boy was she in a big mess now. She had to think. Quickly. True, she didn't want to marry Malfoy. But, she didn't want to 'produce an heir' to the first guy who would please her parents enough. She didn't want to marry Neville, even if she knew him; she would feel like marrying some foreign sea monster or something. Definitely not what she wanted. But Malfoy... Malfoy was Malfoy. Why, yes, why would she help him by marrying him? Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. And the hell with swearing now!

"I'm gonna marry you..." she started, catching a glimpse of a smile on his abnormally pale face, "_if_ my parents accept you amongst the others."

Ha! Now she was quite sure he wouldn't go after her for a while. You get in trouble, you get yourself out, she thought. _She_ got out; now it was his turn. And she surely wouldn't help him in any way.

He unlocked the door beside her and let her pass. But, just before she was going away from him, he added something she didn't expected at all.

"You do know Crabbe has a crush on you, right?"

'Aaaaargh!' was all she could think of. Her mind was spinning out of control and the only thought she had available was that cry of despair. Aaaaargh.

"I'm not gonna help you, Malfoy, if that's what you want. But I won't help the others. Deal?"

"Deal."

They shook hands, and parted their ways, her with murderous thoughts, him with a contented smile, for he had done a pretty good job in his opinion. The rest of the ball went slowly, as she dreaded the day after. She knew her parents' decision about the marriage of their child would be known about one or two days after a ball of this kind. Lucky Malfoy, who doesn't have any parents to make a decision like that for him... or a brother for that matter, she pondered before going to bed. Everyone was gone; Ginny had offered her some sympathy after she heard everything, but it wasn't big enough. She needed comfort, but she couldn't find any. Harry kindly told her he would beat the ferret to a bloody pulp if it would help, and Crabbe too for that matter, but she refused. 'Violence is not the solution,' she had said. But, now that she was thinking about it... Maybe it _could_ be a solution... Hey, wait a minute. Was she actually thinking that? She surely was more shaken by everything happening then she first thought.

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Oooooh what a looooong paragraph! O.o And, what a chapter! (if I do say so myself) Anyway, hope you liked it, that's the only important thing... please review!

Featherstrike

...and D and Firnoviel :P


	4. Chapter 4: A Letter Is a Killer

**Note:** Hi folks! Thanks for the reviews... it means a lot to me! Here is the fourth chapter. Took longer to update, and I'm sorry, but it'll probably be this way from now on. What I mean is that the updates will probably be once a week, on Sunday. But, still, it's not like I'm making you wait for an entire month! (Unlike some other authors... lol just kidding here, I'm sure they have their reasons ;) ) Anyway, enough with the chit-chat... on with the story!

Chapter 4: A Letter Is a Killer

Hermione lay awake on her bed, her mind wandering outside with the wind. She sincerely wished she could fly away now. Just this instant. Not bothering about an arranged marriage that she would hopelessly contract with Malferret. Or even worse, Crabbe. How could she, in only one night, have sunken so low she was practically hoping Draco sodding Malfoy would please her parents so she could marry him?

"Please Lord, kill me. I need it now."

Aaaaargh. And aaaaargh again. She was thinking this «aaaaargh» would become her motto soon enough if everything continued as it was. She was desperate. A little more, and she would change her name (again) and flee to a foreign country. In Africa. Living with baboons. That'd be better than living with Malfoy. She even started to count all the good sides of living with monkeys (honestly... she WAS desperate) when an owl tapped lightly on a near window. Finally something to occupy her mind for a minute or two.

She slowly got up from her comfortable bed, let the owl in and took his delivery. She didn't recognise the writing on the envelope; but the signature of Malfoy at the end of the letter made her want to scream. Aaaaargh.

_Granger,_

_Although you said you wouldn't help me to conquer the heart of your parents, I think I should help you myself. I asked some of my contacts a little bit of information I'm sure you would like to know. Maybe it'll make you understand how it would be best if you accepted my marriage proposal right now. You can propose my candidature to your parents; it's always a good point to start. Anyway, here comes the information:_

_-Stupid Neville Longbottom didn't ask your hand, nor did his grandmother. Instead he fell in love with a dumb and ugly creature (like himself) in the lake near your house or something._

_-Crabbe asked for your hand._

_-Goyle too._

_-Zabini did, because I accidentally let it slip that your family was nearly as rich as mine. Let me say that he has a tendency to get violent and possessive with «his girls». Just so you know._

_-A certain Michael Zouri asked for your hand, along with his three brothers and two step-brothers; fortunately for you, even if they're not as poor as the Weasel's family, they're not a good party. And your parents surely wouldn't want their daughter to marry one of these 50 years old perverts._

_Talking about poor people, I heard you weren't in good terms anymore with the Weasel. I highly congratulate you for finally seeing how much he is a disgrace to this world._

_Now if you say I'm not a good person, then you must admit you're not as brilliant as the gryffindorks say you are. Am I not the best future husband ever?_

_Consider again my proposition. I reiterate what I promised: no adultery and I'm currently searching for a way to avoid the 19th law of the marriage contract. You should, too._

_Next time we meet, Granger, I hope we'll be as good as already married, I hope. If not, then you're in trouble and don't count on me to help you get out of it. I'll offer this only once. If you don't take the opportunity, I'm sure that Ginny Weasley will. She is Potty's girlfriend and marrying a poor girl would make me a generous guy to society. Don't worry about me; I have other means of persuasion than what I showed you last night._

_Sincerely yours, your future husband,_

Draco Malfoy 

"That git!" she thought angrily as she finished reading his letter. He wasn't happy enough making her think like mad to find an escape from the situation, he had to bother her with his letters and remind her again of what a situation she was in! Stupid, egotistical, insufferable, disgusting, vile Slytherin he was!

It was even more frustrating that he was surely the only hope she had now. He must have been the only 'decent' one who had 'proposed' to her, even if she wasn't sure he would keep his promises after she had agreed. Or after their wedding, which was now even more likely to happen since the other choices weren't good at all. Curse the day her brother was born. And curse the day he thought it would be funny to introduce her to pureblood guys like she was some kind of meat. The mere thought was insulting when you considered it that way. Insulting and uncopable.

Plus, he had threatened her to go after Ginny if she didn't accept. _That_, she thought angrily, was the lowest thing he could have thought, she was sure. _How could he_? Threatening not only her pride, but her friend's too? Ginny would never accept his proposition in a normal situation and they both knew it; but she hardly wanted to know what the 'other means of persuasion' were that he had talked about. So it meant she had to agree. She had to make sure her parents would accept him as her future husband, and no one else.

She was truly disgusted by now. By him, and by herself. She couldn't think of any solution to this problem but to accept his proposal –thus admitting she was somewhat weak in front of him, even if blackmail had been used.

_Such trouble for his stupid reputation. Who cares about it besides him, anyway? Stupid, stupid, stupid Malfoy_, she mentally cursed. Annoyed again by her own thoughts, as she was before his letter came (maybe even more), she failed to keep her mind blank. Giving up an already lost fight with herself, she got out of her room with some socks on –she didn't want any new incident with the floor anymore– and went down the stairs to the dining room where her mother was already sitting.

"Hey," she said, still shy around her 'new mom'.

"Hello, Granger dear. Did you enjoy your sleep? You seem... bothered."

"Oh," she murmured quietly, "I can't say I enjoyed sleeping since I didn't sleep at all..."

Yeah, like lack of sleep had caused her to loose her piece of mind. Her mother wasn't even helping; Hermione was now contemplating a blatant similarity between herself and her brother, as they both hated when someone called them by their second name. Oh, well. Better make it clear now, or it'll happen again and again. No need to add something to her already annoyed mood.

"Actually, mom, before you ask any question, can I ask you a favour?"

"Sure, dear. Go ahead," softly responded her mother.

"Never call me Granger again," she blasted out.

Ouch. That seemed a little bit rough. Why did she say that, again? Oh, right. She didn't like to be called Granger. But... why was it again? Why would a single name annoy her so much? She didn't react to it when Malfoy would call her that...

Oops. Her mind drifted right back to Malfoy. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. I am stupid, my brain is stupid, we are stupid. Malfoy is a heartless, selfish, annoying git. Stupid, stupid, stupid..._ She couldn't stop the interior monologue she had. Better to distract herself with a conversation now or she wouldn't get the chance later. Think of a subject, quick!

"So, did someone please you enough to be my future husband yesterday?"

What a moron! Couldn't she think of something else? That was downright selfish! The subject would surely backfire to Malfoy, _again_... Aaaaargh!

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Welll, what do you think? Is Malfoy enough... Malfoy-ish? XD Please review... always appreciated! And thanks for sticking with me!

Featherstrike

...and D and Firnoviel!


	5. Chapter 5: The Psychopathic Phantom of t

**Note:** Chapter 5! Woot! This story is doing great... I hope O.o Anyway, I would like a little more reviews from you guys... I'm not asking for that many, just... a few more. Let's say around 35? You can do this! Anyhow, here is the next chapter...

Chapter 5: The Psychopathic Phantom of the Opera

"Actually, there are some good pureblood families interested in you..." said Hermione's mother. "The Malfoy heir, in particular. He is quite charming, but there's something cold about him. Polite, but also distant. He actually said he had a good relationship with you. Is it true? Do you know him? It would ease the process, I mean, marrying a stranger would be much more difficult for you, I suppose..."

He actually said he had a good relationship with her? _Yeah, right._ Go ahead, Malfoy. You surely had a good laugh about that, didn't you? And now she had to agree with his blatant lies! To _help _him! One more time, she asked God to kill her on the spot. Either God hated her, or he didn't exist, because he didn't answer the prayers.

"He's a good guy behind the façade when you take the time to get to know him, mom. He's probably the one I'd choose for a husband out of everyone who attended the party yesterday."

If _that_ wasn't a hint, she wondered what could be one.

She felt like she was betraying not only Imelda, but also her whole future. The worst of it, though, was that the last lie Hermione had told her was also a truth. He was the one she considered most to be her future husband. The lie behind it? It wasn't in the way Imelda would understand it; it wasn't because he was someone she liked a bit, but because he had threatened her, that he would become her husband. There resided the difference, in one simple sentence. The reality: a lie and a truth all in one, at the same time, different meanings for different people. The benefit of it didn't even appear clear to her. She had a choice to make. To marry someone she hated, or someone even worse. Her life as a recognised pureblood wasn't as appealing as she dreamed it would be when she was a child.

She heard her mother babble in the distance, not really paying attention to the fact her daughter wasn't listening until a certain Zabini was mentioned. Hermione tilted her head up so rapidly she swore she had broken something in her neck.

"...Quite good-looking, and he had this wedding ring from his family..."

"Excuse me, but... what was it you said again?"

"Blaise Zabini, dear. He looks forward to marrying you, too," responded her mother with a peaceful smile.

"Malfoy may be an arrogant brat," Hermione thought, "but he sure knows his friends. _If_ he considers Zabini as such, of course. He'd better not have lied to me about Blaise's tendency to violence, or he'll know what pains _really_ mean... Okay, now, what do I answer my mom?"

"They say he shagged almost every girl in our year and above. I don't think he's the best party, don't you too, mom?"

Thank you, rumours. Even if these ones were more about Malfoy than Zabini... She couldn't say he was useless, after all. If he wasn't such a charming, handsome guy, then, he wouldn't attract so many girls' attention who would say their fantasies aloud...

Wait, wait! There was no way she had just said that! It must have been Lavender's fault, or Ginny's... _they_ were the ones who thought he was the bachelor of the school, after all. Right after Harry, of course. Or maybe it was just a trick of her mind? To subconsciously ease her pain? She remembered what the girls had said about Malfoy so she would see at least one good side from his proposal. Sadly enough, she wouldn't let herself to think about him as a _handsome_ guy. He was too vile for that. And she didn't put much importance to appearances anyway. So... the subconscious would have to find other things up his sleeve to ease her view of the situation.

"Hermione dear, don't say «shag». It's improper."

"Sorry mom. Hum... I'll just... go see Edward, okay?"

After a moment, she asked:

"Where is he, by the way?"

Her mother smiled knowingly at this and answered he was back at his store; Hermione would have to take Floo Powder to get to him. That's exactly what she did... excepting the fact she didn't pronounce the shop's name correctly. And she got to a not-so-wonderful house, by chance empty, with an only window letting her see trees as far as her vision would go.

"Where on earth am I? Is it me or do I literally attract problems lately?"

As she heard a faint clashing sound in the distance she quickly scanned the room for a place to hide. Luckily, she almost immediately saw a big oak wardrobe in which she instantly hopped in to hide herself from any source of life nearby. That source of life turned up the second she was out of view, but also before she could close the wardrobe's heavy door, resulting in the fact she was stuck between multiple clothes... and he could see her any moment if he had the idea of examining the furniture more closely. But at least she could see him where she was.

She examined the man, who obviously owned the house where she had landed into. He had a cloak on, even if he was inside, and a white masquerade mask covered half of his face, giving him a mysterious but mean look; like a phantom of the opera, in a psychopathic sort of way. She could see, though, he had wavy chestnut hair; he was quite tall, even for a man, or at least he gave the impression he was. It may as well have been his gigantic ego for what she cared, he still looked like a giant. Not like Grawp, of course, because the man seemed slimmer than built, and he had manicured hands...

"Mavvy, have you done what I ordered yet?" said the man to someone she couldn't see.

"No," replied who she logically thought was Mavvy.

"No? How come?"

He seemed tired, not a bit surprised by the answer of the other. She figured he was used to the news.

"Thomas, you know that it has been 11 years now that we've known about the Pure's existence and as many that we've spent searching for him. Without a name, my men cannot..."

"I know, Mavvy. I was just hoping..."

He chuckled, as if 'hoping' was something funny. "Strange man," thought Hermione for herself.

"Still this Malfoy boy denies it is him. I'm starting to believe him..."

Malfoy? Why would he talk about Malfoy? What did her future husband still deny? "He'd better not have gotten himself in trouble if it can get to me..."

"You said yourself he is connected to the Pure. If he isn't, why would he attract the Gold Chain?"

"Why would he deny being the Pure, in that case? Lucius thought him well; he would surely believe in our cause. Why, then, would he still deny, Mavvy?"

Mavvy remained silent, until the one he called Thomas spoke again, a look of disbelief painted on his face.

"Or maybe we thought wrong all along, Mavvy... Maybe we thought wrong!"

"I am afraid I don't follow your mind, Thomas. What are you talking about?"

"We assumed the Gold Chain would be attracted by the Pure, thus making it an instrument to find him. _But_," he continued, "what if we were wrong?"

"You mean to say the Gold Chain isn't attracted to the Malfoy kid because of who he is?"

Thomas let out a shrieking laugh, nearly making Hermione jump with fright.

"Call two of your men back, and order them to find out everything about the Gold Chain. And," he said after a long moment, "give this to Emily."

He picked out of one of his cloak's pockets, a parchment and a quill he used to scribble a note rapidly. He folded it in two, handed it to Mavvy, and Hermione figured out they got outside the room together as she heard two different sounds of footsteps getting more distant by the second. She let a small gasp of air escape her lips when she was sure the two of them were definitely gone and opened the wardrobe's door wider than it was, taking a peak from her hiding spot. No one in view, the coast was clear.

"Time to escape, time to escape... how do I escape?"

She nervously took another glance around the room, checking for any unwanted presence. The room was still empty, of people as well as of Floo Powder, alas... she didn't know what to do, until one thought occurred to Hermione.

"Hey! I'm a witch! Didn't I read a book about turning an object into a Portkey some time ago?"

A grin appeared on her features as she remembered the spell (which she had learned while searching for a solution to the second task of the Triwizard tournament in fourth year, in the restricted section). She grabbed the first thing she thought would do the job, muttered the spell and went directly back to her bedroom. She carelessly threw the object she used as a Portkey on her bed and went down the stairs to the dining room, where her mother was sitting minutes ago –but she was now gone, and Hermione was thankful for that. She didn't know why; maybe it was the fact she was still shy around her, while Imelda acted like she had been a present mother from the first day of Hermione's life. Which she hadn't been.

She went to look for Floo Powder and finally managed to get into her brother's shop.

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Ooooh! It's getting mysterious... Hope you liked this one! I'm sorry I didn't update on Sunday as I had said I would. Time passes by so quickly... I couldn't believe it had already been a week since the last update! Oh well, maybe it's just me.

And remember: reviews! XD

Featherstrike

... and D. and Firnoviel :)


	6. Chapter 6: My Luck, My Shop

**Note:** Oops! Sorry for the long wait everybody! Actually, I've got bad news: it'll be this way from now on... I'll update every **two weeks**... I know I know, it sucks, but if I had gone on like this, I coudn't have written as fast as I updated. So there you have it. On a brighter note, I decided to update event though I didn't get the 35 reviews I asked for ;) I mean, it's not _that_ much... is it? Oh well, here's chapter 6!

Chapter 6: My Luck, My Shop

Looking around, Hermione found nothing but piles and stacks and mountains of scarves of every color imaginable: blue, violet, black, yellow, green –she even caught a glimpse of a rainbow one. She felt she was going to get dizzy in a matter of seconds if she didn't find her brother right away.

She passed through hats, gloves, mittens, books –_How to Look Good in Your Uniform_, Vol. I, II, III, IV, V and VI– to finally reach an old customer, whom she asked for directions to the back store, where her brother might, hopefully, be.

"The back of the store? That's just where you are, milady!" he laughed.

Seeing her confused look, he continued:

"I'm Frankie Sinatra, second manager of this shop, nice to meet you. Why did you want to visit the back of the store, may I ask?"

"Frank Sinatra? Like the famous muggle? That must be so weird…" she remarked to herself. "I'm Hermione, nice to meet you, too. I came here to have a word with my brother, Edward..."

He laughed again and motioned to her to follow him. After 5 long minutes of walking through accessories of different shapes, styles, forms, colors and fabrics, they finally reached her brother, who was in deep conversation with a teenage girl Hermione immediately recognised. She cringed before making herself known.

"Edward, can I―"

"Hermione! Oh, what a pleasure to see you! I've heard everything about the scandal, dear. Were you really sequestrated by a muggle terrorist band that had kidnapped you when you were 2 months old? How did you escape? Is it true they threatened to reveal to the world the existence of the magical world? You know, Ron and I were talking about that and I thought he was _sooo_ wrong because he kept saying you had a normal life and it is _definitely _not true. I mean, look at you! You're the perfect example of a beaten, undernourished girl! You _must_ tell him he's wrong, or he'll just keep babbling nonsense all along and I _sooo_ don't like that, you know!

Hermione looked at Lavender for a second with disgust. The girl reminded her how angry she was with Ron and was the main reason she had hated him so much for weeks now.

"Actually, even if I _totally_ hate to say this, you know, but Won-Won is _sooo_ more right than you," she mimicked the girl.

Oh, God, how she hated her. And Ron. She hated them both!

She turned to her brother and commanded him to find another place so they could talk... _alone_, she finished while sending a murderous glare to the girl in front of her. She repeated to herself that violence was never a solution, nor was murder. "Keep calm, breathe slowly, everything will be alright. Keep calm, breathe slowly..."

"What is it, dear sister?" he asked in a tone which really meant, "I'm ready, you can scream at me now."

"What is it? _What is it? _Because of you, I will marry someone I hate in a matter of months, or even worse, in a matter of days! What were you thinking, you thick-head?"

At this point she slapped him on the shoulder since she couldn't reach his head. The mere presence of Lavender had made her exceptionally angry, and she subconsciously let out her frustration on her brother, even if he had nothing to do about it.

"You can discuss it with mother if you don't like her choice. There's nothing I can do about what she thinks is best for you!"

"_You_ were the one who decided to show me off like a piece of meat to all those pureblood guys! _You_ got me in this mess! And _you_ will get me out of it!"

"What do you want me to do? Annihilate all pureblood males so they won't ask for your hand?"

"No! I just want you to... Never mind."

She sighed in resignation. Her brother was right after all. He didn't have anything to do with Malfoy's proposal. He couldn't fix the situation, no one could. Of course he had started the ball rolling –"what a dumb expression", she thought– but he wasn't in a bit responsible for another's action. Edward looked at her in concern.

"What is it? Is their choice so bad?"

"No, not if it's who I want them to chose, but... I don't want to marry him. I have to, but I don't want to. It's difficult."

"I'm so sorry sister, but I don't know who you're talking about. Hell, I don't even know who proposed to you!"

"Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, and all Michael Zouri's family," she automatically answered.

"It's a good amount," he chuckled, not even trying to remain serious.

"No, it's not," she groaned, exasperated. "I hate them all! There was Zabini who might have been decent enough, but then I just learned he had a 'tendency to violence with his girls'. Now I'm supposed to marry my biggest enemy, a stupid, self-centered, manipulating bleached ferret, because if I don't, he'll marry my friend, and I'll be stuck with one of his two stupid goons!"

She progressively raised her voice until it was so high she swore it could have broken a glass. Her brother seemed a little taken aback by her sudden outburst –sure he knew she was a bit frustrated, but at this point?

"Calm down, sister! I'm sure you can find a solution, bright as you are..." he tried to cool her down, to no avail.

"I can't _calm down_! How do you suppose I can _calm down_? I'm gonna marry Draco Malfoy! How can I _calm down_, for God's sake?"

"Think logically. You're gonna marry him –it's a pureblood union: you conceive an heir and the job is done! You'll be friends, you'll be rich, and you'll have your separate love life, like every other pureblood couples married by contract. It's simple!"

"I hate him, Edward! And you're just _gross_! Conceiving an heir with him would mean... to do it with him! This is just plain repulsive!"

"Look, Hermione. This," he motioned to her to look around, "is my shop. Notice the possessive pronoun: _my_ shop. And in _my_ shop, you can't just blow your rage at me for nothing. Look, I was lucky. Life decided to give me a chance, and I took it; it's my luck, my shop. What _you_ have to do is to take the chance you have now. Do whatever crazy things your mind can come up with, enjoy what's left of your free time, and when you marry, establish a truce with him. That'll make your life a way lot easier. It's your chance, sister."

"Don't start with your 'chance, luck and life', Edward. It'll only get worse."

"It's your opinion. I gave you my advice; the only thing you can do now is to follow what you think is best after you saw it from a neutral position."

"Neutral position?"

"Yeah. Cool down, and stop seeing only the bad side. It helps, sometimes..." he finished quite sarcastically.

Having nothing more to say to him, and feeling slightly less frustrated than she had been, she made a move to go back home... until she realised she didn't know the way back to the back store.

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Don't have much to say about this chapter. Isn't her brother _nice_? XD Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!

Featherstrike

...and D. and Firnoviel!


	7. Chapter 7: Of Mary Anna's Stuttering and

**Note:** Hey everybody! Hope the wait wasn't too hard on you :P Here is (finally) the seventh chapter! Oh, and you should also know that the title of the story will be a little different from now on... As of the next update, it'll be called: 'The 19th Law of Pureblood Engagement'. Now that that is settled, on with the story!!!

Chapter 7: Of Mary-Anna's Stuttering and Silver Watch

Her brother led her to Frankie who led her to a group of the shop's employees. He instructed them to show her the shop so she wouldn't get lost in it anymore; they all accepted gleefully.

"Miss Hermione, I'd like you to meet —"

"Edward Frances Vandemoortele, holder of this place. Nice t'meet ya, gorgeous," said one of the group's guys.

He firmly took her hand and kissed it forcefully. She was already beginning to dislike him. «Liars» were at the top of her Hate List, just behind «Draco Malfoy» and the newly added «Ron Weasley».

"It's nice to meet you too, _brother_," she said in a voice filled with disdain.

The guy lost its face colour. Normally, his trick would work, he thought. Why did he have to meet the owner's little _sister_?

Instead of making an excuse or a funny remark that could have saved his non-existent reputation, he just emitted a tense chuckle. No need to state he knew he wouldn't be in the good graces of his superior if his sister revealed him whom he pretended to be.

"Listen, this was all a joke. No urge t' report t' yer brother or anything…"

"Don't worry. I'll just say you're practically raping every woman's hand in this store."

She declared it in such a casual tone he considered it even more dangerous. Frank interceded:

"Miss Hermione, as I meant to say to minutes ago, I would like you to meet Nicolas, Todd, Justin and Mary-Anna."

He respectively showed her to a strawberry blond guy with a broken nose, the liar who pretended to be her brother, a fourteen-years-old-like boy wearing a lightning blue eye patch which clashed oddly with his t-shirt, and finally an odd-looking girl who appeared like she had been involved in a particularly nasty fight. Thus the big sunglasses under which Hermione could guess what looked like a black eye.

She shook all of their hands (including Todd's, even if she felt like she would puke in a matter of seconds) before Frank decided they could start to visit the whole store so she could remember it _forever_. They didn't go far before she was already lost. It took almost two hours for her to memorize some 'checkpoints'. She noted to herself that as soon as she could get home, she'd ask her brother for a map of the place. Just to be sure.

When she was alone again with Frank, she couldn't contain herself:

"Frank, is there some kind of a trick to not getting lost or did you learn by heart every surface of this place?"

He didn't answer, just smiled mysteriously. He did, though, walk briskly to an alley of black and white scarves where he suddenly stopped.

"This, _mademoiselle_, is my little secret. Do not repeat it to anybody, particularly to Nicolas... Big nasty mouth that one's got himself, big nasty mouth, enough for the whole of us!"

He searched through the piles and finally extracted one semi-spherical object, which, on the surface, looked like a compass. The... thing seemed to be full of white smoke.

"What is it?"

"It's a specific remembrall. See, when I want to find my way to, say, the back store, and I don't take the right direction, the remembrall will become red, because I will have forgotten my way."

"But a remembrall will turn red from the beginning, Frank, if you forgot your way. It won't help you if it does that... And you could have just forgotten something else!"

"No, no. It's a _specific_ remembrall, miss. It's specific to this store and its directions, to orientation in this place! To no other things! But," he added with a hushed tone, "I hide it just in case. It's worth a billion for sure!"

Hermione stayed silent, uncomfortable. The old man must have lost a brain cell or two in the aging process. No one with enough sense would hide a remembrall in this store if all you could use it for was when you would get lost... lost enough not to find it.

"Anyway, it's a secret. Don't tell, milady, don't tell! Now, you can go home. The visit has ended. I hope it helped you..."

"More than you think, Frank!" she reassured him politely. No, it didn't really help her. Tomorrow she wouldn't remember a damn thing for sure. "See you later!"

"Later, milady, later!" he murmured to himself in a sort of sing-song voice. "I will see you later..."

She rapidly walked to the back store and got ready to go home by Floo Powder. She couldn't help the grin plastered on her face. Frank really was funny. Nuts, but funny. At least he seemed happy.

"W-wait, Hermione, I n-need to see you," stuttered a feminine voice.

She recognised it as Mary-Anna's, as she was the only girl she had met in her brother's shop.

"Hello, Mary-Anna. How are you?"

"I'm fine, t-thank you. I w-wanted t-to ask you something."

"Oh! Well, go on. Shoot."

"D-D-Did you see anything p-particular on m-me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I m-mean what I m-mean," she answered with the look of an obstinate child.

"Well... you seemed beaten up back there... I think I can see a black eye behind your sunglasses. Is this what you wanted to know?"

"Yes. B-B-Because you seemed m-more observant t-than t-the others."

"WHAT? They didn't remark about it?" she asked, shocked. How could someone pass by the bruises and scratches all over Mary-Anna's revealed skin?

"N-N-No. T-T-They c-can't. You're t-the only one who c-can see through m-my m-magic."

Hermione wondered what magic the girl was talking about. They _were_ in a magical world. Her magic was the same as everyone else's. Normally.

"It's a n-natural m-magic. You c-can't see it without b-being related t-to t-the First."

"Who's the First?" Hermione immediately asked.

"T-T-The first pureblood, of c-course," announced Mary-Anna like it was an evidence.

Hermione remained silent. The «First», as she understood it, couldn't be. The First couldn't have appeared from nowhere and declare his blood was pure. Even if he had been a wonderful wizard or what's not, his blood couldn't have been «cleaned» like a carpet. She couldn't even _begin_ to understand how people would buy this myth. There wasn't any logic!

"Rubbish. There was no first _pureblood_. Hardly a first _wizard_."

"N-N-No! It's t-true! I kn-know it!" cried the girl like she just had heard Hermione say guys were in fact disguised aliens.

Hermione sighed. It was flagrant the girl would stay with the same opinion even if she came with a million-worth proof. She could guess it just by the sight with these people.

"Okay, okay", she tried to calm her down. "If it's okay with you, I'll return to my house."

As she made a move to take a handful of Floo Powder, Mary-Anna grabbed her wrist and looked at her directly in the eyes –in opposition to what she had done from the beginning, as to looking everywhere but at Hermione's face. In the meantime, she discreetly slipped an object in the palm of Hermione's hand.

"One day, you'll understand. The First is too important to be lost. You are one of us. Believe. Please," she begged.

Hermione was perplexed. Mary-Anna was stuttering before –why did it stopped all of a sudden? What was it that was so important about the First? She couldn't just start believing in something as illogical at will.

"I wish you luck. Goodbye."

She vanished. Hermione blinked: Mary-Anna had literally _vanished_. And that wasn't a normal every-day apparition. Confused, she took a good look at what the girl had subtly given her. She had an impression of _déjà-vu_. It was a silver watch with fine engravings and four hands which didn't move. There was a fifth one, though, which was spinning out of control in a strange waltz, a moment fast, a moment slow. A moment fast, a moment slow. 3 normal-speed seconds. Clockwise, counter-clockwise.

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Hope you liked it as much as the other ones! And thanks a lot for the reviews!! We reached 40!! Woot!

Featherstrike

... and D. and Firnoviel


	8. Chapter 8: Try To Be Happy

**Note: **Hey people! Another chapter! Don't have much to say about it except... finally, an encounter with the Devil in person ;) You get the idea, don't you? Anyway, enjoy!

Chapter 8: Try To Be Happy

Three days.

Three days later, Hermione's father knocked on her bedroom's door at five in the morning to announce the 'most marvellous news of her entire lifetime':

"Honey, you're getting married in a month to Draco Lucius Malfoy!" he declared in an I'm-the-proudest-father-ever tone. She just stared at the ceiling, letting her eyes adjust, until he spoke again, maybe a little worried at her lack of emotion. He had expected something else. Cries, tears, shock, bouncing joy, something at least...

"Aren't you... happy?"

She took the time to think before she answered.

"I'll try to be."

She turned herself to face him, a frown clearly distorting her sleepy face.

"Why did it take so long to come to this decision?"

"We only wanted to make sure this gentleman would be a perfect husband for you. Since his father is in custody at the new Azkaban, we didn't know if we could trust him with our beloved daughter..."

Perfect husband? No way! How many lies did Malfoy tell so they would believe him trustworthy?

"Why is he suddenly perfect for me?"

"That, you will realize when you go on your honeymoon."

"Honeymoon?" She yelped in horror and surprise, the shock fully waking her. Surely they didn't count on them to go on a _honeymoon_? It wasn't a _love wedding_, why...

"Yes, honeymoon. According to the 20th law of pureblood engagement, the 19th law must be worked on as soon as the two purebloods are rightfully married. The 19th law, in short, indicates you must conceive an heir before the husband's 21st birthday. Thus, the honeymoon in the pureblood engagement history."

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I need to sleep," she grunted.

"Oh! Okay. I'm going now. Goodnight! ...I mean morning."

As soon as he passed the door and closed it, she grabbed her pillow, hid her face in it and screamed like there was no tomorrow.

"Why is this happening to me?"

But then she realized that in a month, she'd be back at Hogwarts for her 7th year. Were they planning on celebrating the wedding on school days? She didn't want to miss any of her classes just for these awful traditions! As unappealing as it appeared to her, she realized she absolutely had to see Malfoy about these matters _as soon as possible_.

Okay, maybe not _now_. She really needed to sleep. And with that thought, she drifted back to the world of her dreams –or nightmares, for she dreamt she was on a trip to the South Pole with the children she had had with Malfoy, and everyone was eating ice cream except her, so she died of hunger just before a black train hit her.

She slept in, woke up at 10:30 in the morning. Her brother was already at his shop, her father at the ministry, and her mother had left a note, taped to her doorknob, explaining she had gone shopping for a ball she had been invited to. Hermione had the whole afternoon free, until her family came back home, of course.

She ate broiled eggs and bacon with an enormous bowl of fruits –she was always hungry at home, it was only at Hogwarts she wasn't eating much, no reason why–, took a long, refreshing shower –pure heaven– and got dressed into a pair of black commando jeans and a white girly top, even pushing her luck by putting a blood red rose in her braided hair. Farray than appeared behind her, took out the rose, undid the braids, and did another complicated hairstyle. At the time Farray was finished, it was almost noon.

"Looks like it's time to pay Malfoy a visit" she bitterly thought with a resigned look.

She checked to make sure her wand was safely in her back pocket –never go unprepared into the enemy's lair– and went to the living room where the chimney and Floo Powder were. She stopped dead in her tracks before reaching the room, slowly turned to the opposite side and sprinted all the way to her bedroom. She frantically searched through her things to finally get the hand on the two objects she had wanted so badly to find.

"That's why it seemed so familiar..."

Hermione was holding Mary-Anna's silver watch in her right palm, the fifth hand spinning slow, fast, slow, fast, clockwise, counter clockwise, and in her left palm stood a silver cigarette box with practically the same fine engravings and precious appearance.

She looked at both of them, wondering whether the objects had some importance or if it was just a coincidence the two were obviously from the same origins. In that case, would there be a link between Thomas (psychopathic phantom of the opera) and Mary-Anna (stuttering employee of her brother)?

"Okay, Malfoy, you'll definitely have to use that brain of yours with me if you want your _wife_ not to kill you in your sleep," she thought with an evil grin taking place at the mention of his possible future death.

She returned to the living room with the two silver-made objects and flooed to the Malfoy Manor.

Looking around her, she was all but reassured by the room's ambiance. It was cold, it was black, and white marble surrounded her. She had the impression any sound she would emit would amplify itself at least ten times in here, faking a louder echo.

"I hate this place already," she observed aloud for herself.

"Too bad you'll have to settle here when we'll be as good as wife and husband, then," said Malfoy, who appeared out of nowhere, to her surprise.

"As the woman of the place, I'm afraid I'll have to banish this side of the Manor. I hope you didn't like it that much, dear," she viciously retorted.

"As much as I love scarhead"

"Wow!" She faked interest. "I didn't know it was possible to fall madly in love with a room _and_ a guy at the same time!"

"Ha, ha. Very funny, Granger. Very funny indeed," he said, eyes getting darker.

"I have to speak to you about our... wedding, and other matters," she cut him in.

He simply raised an eyebrow in response. His way of letting her continue, maybe.

"Who is the Pure, Malfoy? And what does it have to do with you?"

She sensed he had become uneasy the moment she had mentioned the Pure; she was right, after all. He DID have something to do about what Thomas and Mavvy had conspired about, and he didn't seem like he was proud of it. She even had the impression he felt ashamed for a second, but she immediately pushed away the thought. A Malfoy ashamed, especially Draco, was too unbelievable even in her wildest dreams.

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I just want to thank everyone who reviewed so far! You guys make me so happy! By the way, would you like it if I responded to your reviews? Just a thought... Because I know that some authors do it, and if you really want it bad (:P), I'm sure I could find the time to do it too! Let me know what you think!

Featherstrike

... and D. and Firnoviel


	9. Chapter 9: Here Thy Quest Doth Truly Beg

**Note: **Hello to you all! I am SO sorry I didn't update on Sunday as I had said I would... But, it's not that I forgot or anything. I sware. Actually, for some reasons... I couldn't upload anything on the site. Anyway, now that it works, here is (finally) the chapter 9!!! So sorry again. Anywho, read on, Dramione lovers. Read on.

Chapter 9: Here Thy Quest Doth Truly Begins

Malfoy clenched his teeth before giving her an answer – which wasn't a trustworthy one, she knew it.

"I really don't know what you're talking about, dear." He looked her directly in the eyes, making her flinch a little. His way of calling her "dear" was trying to sort out a long gone memory, but she couldn't exactly put her finger on it now.

"Are you really sure this doesn't ring any bell, Malfoy?" she threatened him, showing him the two silver objects like they were two mighty beasts ready to jump at him. He gulped. _Really_ strange. Malfoy gulping. And there she thought he was supposed to have no fear at all. Blast.

"N... no, not at all"

"No?" she inquired, looking directly in his eyes too, in a menacing sort of way. "You don't intend to hide any important secret to your soon-to-be wife, do you?"

"Of course not, but I don't recall seeing these things and I..."

"Cut the crap out and answer me, Malfoy: what exactly do you have to do with the Pure?"

He closed his eyes, expelling a good amount of air.

"You nosy little..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Nosy, bookworm, bushy haired, whatever. Just _explain_, for God's sake!"

He made a step toward her that made her shiver, but she stood still. Why was he suddenly _menacing_? Was this some of the room's effect or... no, she couldn't be afraid of him. Right?

"Make me", he sneered, taking another step.

"Malfoy..." she menaced, trying to conceal her uneasiness.

He was now inches from her. Sneering even more, he took her chin in his long, pale fingers, and lifted it up. He appreciated the look for a minute before he finally said:

"You definitely look better that way. Stop looking at people's _shoes_, Granger, it's the best thing to do if you want the pureblood society to respect you."

"I don't care about your pureblood society, Malfoy. Why should I?"

"Because I am part of this society, and so are you. As long as I won't be able to respect you enough, you won't have any answer coming from me about these matters."

"You..."

"Vile, arrogant, brilliant, devilishly handsome Slytherin, yes, I know," he replied, in a pose that made him look like a model. Not that she would admit it.

Oh, she knew too well he was trying to make her jump out of her heels, but she wouldn't give him that satisfaction anymore. If she was to live with him for the rest of her life, she was best to dissuade him right now of annoying her like he always did at school.

"I assume your _perfect mind_ must have found a way to slip through a certain law in our marriage contract, then?" She asked, eyebrows raised, demonstrating her well-founded doubts.

"Of course!"

"WHAT?"

This guy would obviously never cease to amaze her. In a bad way. First his proposal, then a sign of genius. Certainly _this_ meant it was all a nightmare, from the beginning?

"Make a baby with whomever you go out with, and then we'll raise him up together and bleach his hair so they'll look like mine!"

Wow. Either way it was a disguised Luna Lovegood talking or he accidentally drank a mind-degenerating potion. She didn't know which was best, though. Or, he was trying to be funny. Which, indeed, was quite an alarming situation, so she just tried to forget about it.

"Tell me, Malfoy, when exactly did your brain suddenly stop working?"

"It must have decided to take a break just before I proposed to you. You know, it surely wasn't ready for me to go so low..."

"Oh, so Ickle-Drakey-Wakey is learning how to make jokes now? Too bad they're not funny, huh?"

He just sent her an ironic smile and simply continued to look at her with a strange look in his eyes. He opened his mouth two or three times –"like a fish out of his water", she thought– before he finally decided to speak again:

"Let's do another deal. I tell you about the Pure, and you promise not to get all crazy-angry on me. For the future, I'd also appreciate if you could stay out of my business. Especially this one, since you don't have anything to do with it and I don't want to realize in two days that you got in big trouble because of this crap. You're my wife–"

"Future wife," she corrected.

"Yeah, whatever. Let's just say I don't want to go lower in people's opinion because my fiancée has decided to get in trouble. Remember, I proposed to you for a gain of reputation, not the opposite. Understood?"

"So, what's the story?"

"Have you understood me, Granger?"

She just wanted him to explain, for God's sake! Why was he so serious about it? She wouldn't get in trouble alone; she needed Harry and Ron for that!

Oh, dear. Ron again. It must have appeared on her face that she was suddenly disgusted, because Malfoy made a final offer:

"Maybe this deal doesn't appeal enough to you, but it's still the best I can offer. Do you accept, yes or no, Granger? I don't want to wait all day long for your answer!"

She accepted without thinking much about it. Ever since she was little, she had wanted to know everything about everything. Curiosity was the worst nightmare of her parents –her adoptive parents, that is– for a long time, but she had never stopped asking the same questions over and over until she had gotten an answer. It would still be the case with Malfoy, considering the fact he surely knew interesting information –especially on the Deatheaters, if it was by any chance–.

He chuckled. Again, he was surprising her. Next time he'd have a second head popping out of his ear and it wouldn't surprise her a bit.

"What's so funny, Malfoy?"

"It's you, Granger. _You_'re funny."

"How's that? I don't recall telling any joke lately!"

"No! You're just standing here, in my manor, demanding –no, _ordering_ –information about something you shouldn't be aware of, and you... you just think you're so smart and quick-witted and... and that it's your right to know!"

"But it is!"

"Maybe not. Did it ever cross your mind that learning this information might get you in grave danger? Because I'd hate to see you die, dear. Polls would think I'd be the perfect murderer, thus my family's reputation would go lower, _again_."

"Thank you so much for your care, oh my love," she venomously spat. It was one thing to marry someone without love as the main reason; it was another to hear him say she was only good for a good reputation. She was a first-rate student, courageous, brilliant, friendly, loyal... not a guarantee for the people's opinion! "And now, as you promised, tell me the whole story."

"I want to be sure you won't get in trouble before I tell you anything."

"You won't have it, but I'd appreciate if you could hurry. It's been an hour already that I arrived here, I've lost enough time."

"Fine, fine. It's your mental illness in cause after all... Poor you, I'm not certain your brain will be able to suffer any additional information."

"Another one like that and you'll receive a better correction than the one in our third year."

She saw him cringe a second at the reminder and it was all she needed to calm down for a moment. She knew he'd talk now.

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Well, that's it. Hope you liked it. And, once again, please understand that it was not in my intention to keep you guys waiting for a few more days! Thanks again!!!

Featherstrike

.. and D. and Firnoviel


	10. Chapter 10: Kourageous Knights Of The Ku

**Note:** Already chapter 10! Time passes by so quickly! And this week, on December 15... it's Eragon! Yeah! I'm so excited, I can't wait to watch the movie! Anyway, I'd like to wish everybody a Merry Christmas. I know it's a bit early, but I don't know if I'll be able to update on the 24th. And besides, at least I thought about it! So, on this happy note, I leave you to the next chapter!

Chapter 10: Kourageous Knights Of The Ku Klux Klan

"So you want to know about...?"

"I want to know about the Pure, Malfoy. Shall I print it on your thick skull of yours so you'll finally remember it and stop asking? Or will you begin with the explanations?"

"You need to calm down, dear. It's not good for your health" That was it. She was fed up with his games. Carefully, she took her wand and prepared for the attack...

"Screw my health and explain, Malfoy!" She practically shouted, aiming her wand at his neck. Oh, beloved power over vile creatures such as him...

"Ho ho ho, little Granger is showing her claws, huh? Don't be so impatient. I can't say I'm not enjoying myself at making you furious, but it's becoming way too easy. Give me more of a challenge,_ please_."

Why the... Okay, maybe she was quicker to abandon her calm today, but he was more infuriating by the minute!

Slowly, she lowered her wand until the Slytherin could stand without being on the tip of his toes. But she didn't pocket it yet.

"Seeing as you're so eager to learn from me, I'll do you a favour and share my knowledge with you, a poor, defenceless, ignorant little future wife." He patted her on the head.

Must. Not. Kill. Aaaaaargh!

"Where shall I begin?"

"At the beginning!"

"It was a rhetorical question."

"And it is the last sentence you'll hear before you die in the most painful, shameful way possible."

"You got me pretty scared here," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He exhaled, eyes closed, searching a way to start his 'story':

"You surely know about the pureblood society, and the fact that all of us are rich, high in society, and for the most of us are better than mudbloods and half-bloods at magic. Right?"

"They're _muggleborns_, not _mudbloods_, you prat."

"Riiiiight. So, as I said, we're better than... them. Pureblood families come from two major branches: the branch of the First, and the branch of the Pure. Since you didn't ask for the First, we'll get to the latter."

"But the First is something I'd also want to know about!"

"You should've thought about it before," he said, dismissing the problem by a flick of his hand. "The Pure, if you must know, is called like that because he is the first pureblood of our magical existence."

"Can't be. If he's a pureblood, his parents should have been too."

"That's where the definition of the word 'pureblood' comes in handy, if I do say so. A pureblood is a wizard whom both parents hold magical powers, and whose blood is called 'pure' because he comes from a royal family from both his mother's side and his father's. Of course purebloods need to be related to the human race."

"Oh," was all she could say. And there she thought you only needed to act like a spoiled brat to be a pureblood.

"The Pure was the child of Morgana III, queen of a now extinct race called the Succubus, and Thor, heir to the throne of Atlantis. Sadly enough, Atlantis disappeared at the precise moment the Pure was born." He didn't appear the least bit sympathetic with the people of Atlantis while stating their tragic fate, though.

"You're so egocentric."

"I just keep my interest on what deserves to be interesting."

"And what is it? You?"

"Exactly. Just admit that I am the most breathtaking male of Hogwarts."

"I admit the size of your ego catches my breath every time you come near me, in Hogwarts as well as everywhere else."

His next retort came as a sneer. It stayed in place far too long in her opinion before he continued with the subject in which she was interested:

"When he was five years old, the Pure assisted to the murder of his entire family by a muggle gang named the Ku Klux Klan. He–"

She interrupted him as soon as she heard the gang's name.

"The Ku Klux Klan? Wasn't it a racist gang in the United States? I've read they–"

He interrupted her in turn:

"Yeah, but the point is, the Ku Klux Klan of USA was loosely based on the principles of the first Ku Klux Klan, which was situated all across Asia and Europe. The first organisation's full name was "The Kourageous Knights of the Ku Klux Klan". A failure to every man's taste if you ask me." He motioned to her to follow him out of the room, as he was obviously tired of standing in the same position for such a long time. She couldn't deny she was feeling the same way.

He led her through a series of halls, adjacent rooms and stairs (she had been reassured when they didn't move like the ones in Hogwarts, for the Malfoy Manor was almost as big as the castle) to finally end up in a magnificent cozy library (but it didn't mean anything since every library was magnificent to her). He got them two hidden comfortable chairs, near a consuming fire. The room was surrounded by sets of shelves of old books and it had been painted in the colors of the Gryffindors; something that distracted her a bit from the main reason she had paid Malfoy a visit that day.

"Why doesn't your Slytherin family have more rooms like this one?"

"Because even if you thought otherwise, torture rooms are not so common in the Manor."

She gulped. Torture? Why did he bring her in a place where they tortured people? Oh, wait a minute. There was no possible way it could be a torture room. She just had to look at the books, the comfy chairs, the Gryffindor-like decor, the books...

"You're kidding, right?" she said, catching a glimpse of sarcasm in his silver eyes. Even if she wondered what it was doing in his eyes instead of frustrating her by decorating his lips. Yeah, decorating.

"No. All this red and gold would be enough to scare a self-respecting deatheater for sure."

"Ha, ha, sodding ha." she responded, without the slightest sign of amusement.

He didn't answer but went to look through the shelves of the 'torture room' until he finally got what he was searching for.

"Hey, Granger! Catch!"

He carelessly –more like cruelly to her– threw the book in her direction. Surprised, she instinctively extended her arms to catch it, closing her eyes at the same time. Which wasn't for sure the best thing to do, even if she unexpectedly succeeded at saving the book from crashing on the floor.

"That was completely uncalled for!" she said indignantly.

"But it was worth the shot seeing your face." He tried to mimic her: "Oh my God, he's trying to hurt this mighty book which is by the way the only love of my life! I shall never live happily ever after if it is hurt!"

She suddenly had the impression his tone was a bitter one, more than it needed to be even if it was coming from him. Trying to remain of a natural color, something utterly difficult since she knew she was a bit red in the face, she took a closer look at the book he had thrown in her direction.

"_Dictionary of the demon race; how to properly eliminate all evil on our sacred earth_,_"_ she read. "How… imaginative", she continued, eyebrow raised. Opening the book, she directly went to the table of contents:

"_Chapter I: Succubus and Incubus._

_Chapter II: Centaurs_

_Chapter III: Unicorns_"

She suddenly stopped and looked directly into Malfoy's eyes.

"Unicorns? Evil?" the sound of disbelief in her voice was clearly shown. She was shocked. How could anyone think unicorns were _evil_? It was like… like saying Voldemort was in habit of entertaining sick children as a clown. It made no sense at all.

"_Chapter IV: Fees_

_Chapter V: Elves_

_Chapter VI: The Kraken_

_Chapter VII: Vampires_

_Chapter VIII: Negros_

_Chapter IX: Black animals_

_Chapter X: Red donkeys_

_Chapter XI: All 'magicians', 'healers' or other 'midwives'_

_Chapter XII: Every other demonic being you should be aware of and multiple ways to eradicate evil forces_

_Chapter XIII: How to clean a soul from its tainted body_

_Chapter XIV: Alphabetical order of every known witch and wizard potentially on the loose_

_Chapter XV: Every religion worshipping Satan_

_Chapter XVI: Final recommendations_"

As she finished the reading, she couldn't believe her eyes. _Chapter VII: Negros_. Disgusting. The author was an absolutely racist jackass. The chapters IX and X were another evidence the writer hadn't known a single thing about genetics and the definition of 'evil'. The thirteenth chapter seemed like the beginning of a mass genocide era and she was quite sure the fourteenth chapter included every know religion except Christianity.

"The writer was one of the main followers of the first Ku Klux Klan, but I think he got slaughtered in public because he was considered as a 'weak spot'. They said he was too kind since he had only included a third of the demonic population, and he had supposedly given only the 'less effective ways' to kill the monsters. Meaning he wasn't maniac enough." explained Malfoy.

She flipped through the pages, sometimes stopping at particularly nasty and cruel images. She grimaced.

"You call that 'not maniac enough'?"

She showed him a picture representing really well the definition of 'eternal, excruciating pain', which made the Cruciatus curse look like something mildly refreshing to experience.

"I'm not the one who said those things," he replied, his face showing no emotion, even though she had expected him to cringe a little at this horrible scene.

"And you say the Pure watched his parents getting killed and tortured by these sick people?" Alright, she was feeling a tad nauseous now… poor kid.

"Not only his parents. And I never did say he watched them getting killed, did I? I meant he heard them. He was blind."

His careless tone made her want to puke. It was almost as revolting as the book she was still holding in her hands.

"The funny thing in this is when he discovered what his Animagus form was."

"There's nothing funny, Malfoy. And he was 5 years old, he couldn't possibly have been an Animagus, it's simply…"

"Impossible? No. He was the most powerful magical being of all times." He sneered at her, preparing for the next thing to come: "By the way, his Animagus form was one of a human. That's how he was able to procreate and have his lineage continue until tomorrow and ever after. Lucky guy got married to seven princesses in a row."

"There's no luck in being blind and having your whole family get violently killed, Malfoy."

"That's what you say," he simply remarked. God, was he sickening. Before she had the time to think of a rude comment to expose what she really thought about him, he asked: "Have you received a letter delivered by a blue owl, lately?"

...What was the link again?

"No, why do you ask? Even if the question had slightly taken her aback for it didn't have any relation whatsoever with the latter discussion, she was still mad at him for his appalling behaviour.

"It's nothing you should worry about, really, Granger."

"Then why do I have the sudden impression that you're hiding something from me that is surely something I _should_ worry about?"

"It's not what you think it is. Forget I even asked, okay?"

"No, I won't!"

"Oh, yes you will!"

At this, he brusquely grabbed her by the arm and dragged her behind him, out of the library.

"Hey! What are you _doing_? I'm not a doll you can carry wherever you want!"

"No, you're an annoying woman who just can't keep her mouth shut for one minute, but for once in your life, Granger, please _shut up_!"

"No, I won't!" Okay, that was too childish, but... what was it with him? He was abominably emotionless and then all of a sudden he got all angry on her!

"You need to!" He shouted, briskly turning his face toward hers, but continuing to walk at a fast pace.

"Why?" she asked him, therefore refusing to listen to him and ignoring his urgent tone.

"Because if you don't do it yourself I'll have to force you to do so!"

Yeah, as if that was going to happen. What would he do to her? Punch her until he broke her teeth? This would just _ruin_ his reputation! She sniggered at the thought.

"You wouldn't dare to touch me, prat," she almost spat in his face.

"_Silencio_."

Oh well. She just had to forget there were other means of shutting someone up than brutal force. Like magic, perhaps... bad luck indeed. Why, in the name of God, had she even had the smallest amount of an idea of going to see Malfoy?

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This chapter is pretty long, is it not? I like it! XD Anyway, hope _you_ liked it! Reviews please?

Featherstrike

... and D. and Firnoviel


	11. Chapter 11: The Blue Owl

**Note:** Merry Christmas to you all!! (Even though I'm late . ) I hope you'll understand that, with the holidays and the family parties and all, I had a hard time getting this done in time. Anyway, here it is, finally, the long awaited (I hope ;) ) chapter 11! Enjoy!

Chapter 11: The Blue Owl

Hermione was still grumbling (in her mind that is, since Malfoy had cast a silencing spell on her two minutes ago) when Malfoy finally decided it was time to stop walking. And maybe, if she was fortunate enough, to start explaining his odd behaviour.

"I suppose you want some long and boring explanations now, Granger? Guess what? I don't have any!" He resembled a madman, without any sign of control over the situation (What situation? There wasn't any problem, was there?). That's exactly what he looked like.

Seeing her utter confusion and her look of disbelief showing on every parcel of skin in her face, he tried to calm himself. He countered the silencing charm and began pacing around the room where he had led her to.

"The thing is..." he sighed, muttered: "I shouldn't even be telling you this." Passing his hand on his face as if he was experiencing a rather difficult moment, he continued: "The blue owl is a stranger's. I don't know if it's a he, a she or even an 'it'; all I know is that the person who owns this owl wants me dead or out of its way, whatever that means. In his last letter, he mentioned you, so I thought that maybe..."

Cutting him, she tried to act as logically as possible: "When did you get this letter?"

"Right after your parents accepted me as your future husband."

She blushed, even though there was nothing to blush about, really. Curse these incontrollable physical malfunctions.

"How do you know?"

"I received the two owls within a minute," he responded, as if it was very obvious.

"How many did you receive? What does it have to do with me? And why did you bring me here? We could have stayed in the library!"

"I received exactly 7 of them if you must know. The last one said that the... _person_ had finally found out why I wouldn't stay out of his way and that 'the Vandemoortele girl surely had more to offer than me'. About this room... well, it's a hidden one, aside from being several other useful things, and you could access it only because I permitted you to."

Even though she was very glad that he had decided to 'confess' to her, she was slightly taken aback by his trust in her. Wasn't he supposed to hate her, like everyday else? Of course she wasn't the muggleborn he had thought she was first, but she was still one of Harry's closest friends... a reason enough to make Malfoy think she could not be considered worthy of breathing the same air as him.

She pondered whether it was all a show he was playing at to win her over (and then being able to get her in his bed like half of the female population of Hogwarts), no matter how farfetched this story was becoming, or if it was his hatred for Harry and the Gryffindors that was all a façade. Either way he was hiding his true feelings; and that was mostly intriguing.

"So... when did you plan on telling me all this, since I'm somehow involved with this crazy blue owl owner?"

"Honestly? Never." He sniggered. Oh yeah, so funny, Malfoy. Really smooth of you. Who in their right mind would actually tell their future wife she could possibly be in great danger?

"And there I thought you didn't want me to die…"

"I don't want you to die near anything that is related to me. That's different. If some psycho kills you, the links to me won't be so strong."

So much for caring for each other. She was now a disposable object of value from the Malfoy collection of rare items. Hurray.

Now she felt like crying.

"You…" she began, outraged.

"Remember, this is not a love wedding, Granger. I still despise you," he sneered.

"Someday people would have forgiven you for your father's sins, Malfoy. You would only have had to act like a respectable man." Rage filled her heart in an instant, coming from all the frustrations accumulating themselves for a few days now: "But instead you chose to force me into a marriage I dread more than anything, you didn't hesitate to threaten me and my friend Ginny to do it, and this situation you put me in even got me into more trouble because it gave some psycho guy owning a blue owl the idea that _I_, for some reason, was related to your stupid life!" She took another breathe before continuing her ranting. "Because of you now, I may be in great danger, my whole life is wasted, and I even got the 'chance' to be obligated to conceive an heir with the almighty Slytherin sex god, selfish brat extraordinaire! And so _I_ should be the one to despise you, Malfoy! You and your fucking reputation are nothing to me! Now you'll have to get me out of this psycho's mind, dear, because if you don't, I might be able to _accidentally_ let it slip that you tried to kill me on several occasions, even if it would be a bunch of lies!"

Wow. That was some speech. Gave her quite a good feeling, too. She was relieved, not a tad guilty, and she even felt proud to have put in his place. The guy should have remembered she had claws, too. Two could play this game –even if she had never hoped in her wildest dream that she would have to resort to threats to defend herself against him– and she was more than ready now. And why not continue with it, now that she was more into the feeling?

"From now on, you'll update me on everything, and I mean _everything_, that I will judge important or that could be related to me in any way possible. You will _not_ 'forget' any useful or meaningless information and you will stop treating me like I'm some sort of prized _object_! Is that clear?"

He didn't look like he was afraid, surprised or even impressed, by her long outburst. He just smirked his annoying trademark and patted her on the head. It seemed like he didn't take her seriously at all. Ouch.

"Okay, you win."

Was there anything more infuriating, after such a long tirade like the one she had just cried out, than to be treated like a spoiled child?

Might as well play the child card, then. The 'ready to cry a river' part to be precise. Yes, that would be lovely.

"Why are you doing this to me?" She looked like she was on the verge of falling to tears. Although she was sure she should have been more careful in her approach –it had been a little too fast to her own likes –she hoped it would still work. After all, looking vulnerable wasn't something she enjoyed doing in her free times.

But at least it had apparently taken him off-balance, if it was by any appearance. Now all she had to do was to use basic psychology, make him feel as guilty as it was possible –she knew pretty well it would be a near miracle if she somehow succeeded– and not to let him realize it was all an act. So she wouldn't have the time to let him think a second about this, thus having to do her show on instincts, which was something she really hated. Instincts weren't logic nor reason, and therefore they irremediably resulted in disaster most of the time. Hopefully this right moment would prove to be an exception.

"It's not like I care," he said scornfully, trying to look like she hadn't produced any effect.

"Why not? What did I ever do to you, beside being friends with Harry?"

Basic psychology, on this instant, consisted to use her limited knowledge of the subject. Limited knowledge including the supposition –driven by good facts but still not proved– that he could be jealous of Harry. Leading him to begin to hate them too, adding the fact that she had had friendly relations with Ron and Ginny, who were both Weasleys, well-known nemesis of the Malfoy family –or any other 'self-respecting' pureblood family.

"This has nothing to do with Scarface," he huffed.

"Then what _is_ your problem?"

He was about to reply, slightly opening his mouth in what should have been a strikingly insulting answer, but chose not to say anything. That was one thing she had greatly hoped would happen quickly in her 'guilt-operation', as it was obvious that he had lost one of the main reasons he would have showed off to pretend for his hatred, since she wasn't a true muggleborn.

"You're the problem, Granger," he spat after moments of hesitancy.

Oh, yeah. Take it upon him to make her the one solely responsible one for all the problems in the world. He hated her because of her. So much for logic.

"Then I suppose you're a kind of sick masochist if you want to marry a walking problem."

She didn't turn on her heels but simply glared at him. She would have likely lost herself in the maze of the Malfoy Manor and it was not her intention to get laughed at because of her practically non-existant knowledge of what he called a home.

"Better minor trouble than a bad name," he replied as if it was a common philosophy.

If she hadn't known better, his sudden lack of emotion –not even a smirk– would have rung all sorts of alarm in her head. Such as "_watch out for this shallow moron!" _or "_Liar! Liar! Liar!"_ in big letters. She felt as if he was trying to convince himself too while he said it; normally this was a sign that the person was in denial. And better a Malfoy in denial than a shallow moron.

"You can count on me to do _anything_ possible to drag you in the dirt if you ever put me in any danger ever again, Malfoy. And I'm _dead-serious_ this time. Now show me the way out before I make this damn place explode."

Silently, a bit shocked and –had she seen right?– with a disappointed look that quickly hid itself behind the usual coldness of his eyes, he motioned for her to follow him and they quickly left the room to enter, again and much to her displeasure, the frightening maze that was the Malfoy Manor.

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Well, that's it! Is it just me or are the chapters getting longer? 0.o

I wish you a Happy New Year full of Dramione fics! Ok... time to shut up now. See you in 2007!

Featherstrike

...and D. and Firnoviel


	12. Chapter 12: But The Fun Has Just Started

**Note:** Before you say anything, I'd like to apologize for the very, very, very long wait I put upon you guys. But, you see, with school starting again and all, it was a bit difficult to find a moment to update. Plus, I had some problems getting this up, for whatever reasons... Anyways, I hope this chapter makes up for the wait. Enjoy!

**Important: HBP Spoiler** (for the very few ones out there who still haven't read it)

Chapter 12: But The Fun Has Just Started...

Sitting by a window, naively ignorant of the entrancing effect the moonlight had on her pale creamy skin, Hermione was in deep thought, still holding her quill in the same position as she had two hours ago. She was starting to get cramps in her wrist but she wouldn't let go of her goal yet. Putting her frustrations on paper, she knew it, would prove to be the best stress-reliever for the time being; because the only other solution would be to punch both Malfoy and Ron, and with her current state of mind, she wasn't terribly sure she could restrain herself from hitting too hard. The last thing she needed was to send someone at St. Mungo's with a broken... something.

The problem was, she couldn't get a proper hold of her thoughts more than two seconds before anger threatened to overtake her. And if she needed to put her thoughts on the damn parchment, her quill would need to stay in one piece. And the parchment wouldn't fancy the holes in it either.

Frustrated, she let out a simple sigh before deciding to divide her goal in two. First, she would write a letter to Ron –even if she didn't know whether she would end up cursing him into oblivion on paper or if she would somehow forgive him– and only then, when she had owled it, she would rant about Malfoy.

A thin smile graced her features as she murmured her last thoughts. "Rant about Malfoy..." Oh, how that sounded perfect at the moment. "Curse Ron..." Now THAT was something to look forward to.

Readjusting her position –and painfully realising that her back had somehow managed to rest on the sharp lock of the window– inspiration struck her at the instant. Before she knew it, she was writing furiously what would be the end of her hatred towards Ron.

_Dear Ron,_

_As you have surprisingly managed to understand that I am still furious with you, I feel as if I should explain myself –because if you were so slow to realize my disgust for every particle of your being, then maybe you haven't been able to grab a hold on the reason why I am in such a state: you._

_You see, after the death of Dumbledore_

No, that wouldn't do. She promised herself not to think about it after the funeral had passed; she needn't be sad for the moment. Now was the time of hatred. When finally she would be able to accept everything that happened... then she would be able to accept his death as well. Until then, she wouldn't allow herself to think about it, even if it meant not mentioning his name anymore. She scratched the last sentence.

_You see, right after the funerals, I was slightly hopeful that you would have finally understood the feelings I had held towards you since the middle of third year; but it seems I was strongly mistaken. YOU, after comforting me in such a loving way, finally asked me out. You shall never know how this simple sentence coming out of your treacherous mouth made me feel. BUT, only two hours later, what do I find out? That Lavender had accepted to go out with you again; that I was merely a _back-up plan_. Do you have _any idea_ of the amount of humiliation and tearstained pillows the simple scene of you and Lavender washing each other's _throats_ caused me? YOU USED ME AS A BACK-UP PLAN, RONALD! Although I have already stated your lack of emotional range, you could AT LEAST have considered the fact that I, sadly, was blessed with human feelings! Was the fact that I had been your friend for six years not enough for you to be ashamed of yourself? I truly hope you regret your actions, Ronald –because they were the ones that ended six years worth of friendship._

_Maybe next time you get turned off a relationship you'll understand that you are supposed to care for other people and not just your own EGOISTICAL, MANIPULATIVE, SELFISH, BLOODY ASS!_

_Now I won't bid you my goodbyes. You're not worth it in a billion years._

_For the last time, and without_ _love,_

Hermione Granger

_P.S.: You can consider yourself lucky this isn't a Howler, considering how tempting it was for me to send you one. Or more._

Upon finishing her letter in a hurry, as the initial fury once again took hold of her quill hand, she couldn't help but to give out a startling yelp of pain as realization struck her. Carefully, picking up the paper as if it was a sacred artefact, she slowly placed it in front of her, rereading it. _Because they were the ones that ended six years worth of friendship._ She had just ended it. _They were the ones that ended..._ Guilt maliciously crept into her pained heart; was he really the one that ended it all? Had she just wanted to distance herself from him, straight from the beginning? Afraid of the consequences, afraid of what he might have thought of her... heritage, her lies that lasted all along? Had she anticipated rejection to such a high level that she had felt the need to protect herself from it... by any means?

She shook her head in defeat and closed her eyes. No. She would have welcomed his love just like she had his friendship. If she had somehow been part of its ending, then it was because she had finally comprehended an aspect of Ron's personality, one that wasn't worth risking her heart to. Being used like a doll, one that could be thrown away when it grew boring, wasn't the best idea she maintained about friendship. Or respect. Or even care about another being.

Yes, really, banishing Ron from her life was the best move she had ever made. Surely it would save her from countless heart-breaking moments and ice cream-eating Saturday nights.

Surely it would.

But wasn't experience the best teacher of life? Even if she could foretell the mass of negative feelings and future painful memories her relations with Ron would bring her along the road, wasn't it best to suffer now so as not to fall for his tricks again?

But then that would be mentally masochistic. She would end up either crying herself to sleep every night, or she would build a psychological barrier around her, slowly becoming as cold as a Malfoy. Or worse, Voldemort.

At least she wouldn't try to eliminate all muggles and muggleborns walking on this earth.

Tilting her head to the side as her mind began to wonder if Voldemort had started being evil because of sentimental troubles –which she knew was far from the truth, but imagining Tom Marvolo Riddle being cheated on by an unknown girlfriend was much of a welcome distraction– she had the slightest hope of forgetting everything that had happened since _the funerals_, gazing longingly at the prospect of still being a bit more naive, a bit more careless, a bit more Ron's girlfriend and a bit less of being Malfoy's betrothed.

Which reminded her that she was still trying to make her way out of this circle of guilt she had so carelessly created in the first place.

An owl brought her out of her internal struggle by tapping impatiently on the window, as it had been standing there for quite some time without being noticed. She seemed to be getting that a lot, lately. Owls saving her from the battles of her own mind. Maybe next time she'd survive a Death Eater attack by the heroic actions of a squirrel?

"Hey there," she cooed, as she opened the window to let him enter. "You've got something for me, I see?" As it hooted, looking at her as if it was smirking: "Duh. No, I just came in to discuss philosophy with this letter attached to my leg. Tsk."

She eyed it suspiciously, remembering it from somewhere in recent memories. Careful not to hurt it, she took the heavy envelope it had been carrying, noticing the lack of writing on any particle of it. Not even her name or her address.

She risked a glance at the owl, which had settled itself on the armpit of a nearby chair. It was fast asleep –so the trip had been long. A bit of information that was as important as any other. Maybe it was from Viktor. She hadn't heard from him in a while, and really he was the only one she could think about that she knew to be far away. But then, if it _had_ been him, he surely wouldn't have forgotten to address the envelope to her.

Oh, well. Better to open the letter now before having an anxiety attack. Her father was two rooms away. If it was cursed, he'd hear her scream.

_If_ it was cursed.

Letting out a frustrated sigh at the impossible situations she was getting into lately, she tore the envelope to pieces when she had finally got the letter out of it.

It was unsigned. Great. Not from Viktor, clearly.

_Miss Vandemoortele girl_

_I cannot express how disappointed I was when I learned, by the _**Wizard Gazette**_, of your pureblood heritage. That you had _willingly_ associated with filthy muggles for more than fifteen years without _at least_ trying to kill them and all their surroundings. Maybe, as the wise Lucius had regretfully spat to me some years ago, you already were a lost cause. Perhaps he had known of your situation then; it wasn't until I heard of the news that I could fully comprehend the meaning of his words of wisdom in all their extent._

_Fortunately for your pretty little neck, I magnanimously decided to spare it two nights ago, when I had the possibility to twist it for good. But then you weren't awake and killing people in their sleep is so dreadfully boring. No struggle, no cries. You understand me, right? The very reason I never used the Avada Kedavra. Surely you must feel the same way. Was it the reason you didn't kill_ these_? Because your only occasions were at sleeping times? Really, Miss Hermione girl, you should have been more creative. I, for instance, have faced the same problem (being forced to share good oxygen with these filthy things). All I had to do was to tie them up in their sleep. And then I could, without any problem or interruption, torture them _one_ by_ one

_I'll invite you someday to a party. Of course we'll do it at your kidnappers' house, otherwise it wouldn't be the same, would it? I want you to have fun. Believe me, there's this really exciting part when they're all awake and they can _hear_ your current toy's pain. Maybe we could organize it for your birthday. I know it's on September 19._

_I had a girl your age, but she got killed because she was too silly. She died two days before you turned six years old. Auntie Emily says it's just a coincidence because she doesn't want me to get my hopes crushed if it really is not destiny and then I'd be very terribly sad._

_I'm getting carried away. You should have stopped me from doing this, Miss Hermione girl. My daughter used to stop me when I got carried away. Didn't she tell you? Oh, of course not. She was always secretive. And silly. It got her killed, did you know that? But then you turned six years old and I was happy because six was her favourite number. I had married seven girls and the sixth was her mother._

_Auntie is getting impatient so I'll have to stop writing to you for now. I know it's not right from me to leave you alone like this but I really have to go before she gets mad and refuses to speak to me, because then I'd get frustrated and I maybe I would blame you and then you would be dead so I'd feel sad._

_Bye bye. Remember I love you dearly my Miss Hermione girl._

Hermione couldn't utter a single world. She didn't. The guy was a complete _lunatic_ and he seemed to have taken a sick, dangerous interest in her, pulling out a link with his dead daughter.

Regaining her ability to speak, she decided to voice up her swirling thoughts to the closest living being to her; which was, for instance, the owl that had brought the letter.

"Hey. Wake up little thing." She gently stroke his feathers to let him know his nap was to end on the instant. He hooted his indignation in a near-aggressive manner.

"Why did you stay here, anyway? It's not like your owner expects a reply, or does he?" she asked, a half-mocking, half-curious smile itching to brighten up her worried face.

Again, the owl limited itself to hooting at her.

"You help me tons, oh Blue Wonder," she stated with pure sarcasm.

And then she realized what the owl reminded her of. Or rather, _what the owl really was_. _Blue Wonder. _An _owl_. A _DAMN _BLUE OWL!

"Do I really have more to offer than Malfoy? I don't know, it's like your crazy master is seeking a daughter replacement instead of much more needed psychological help. It's not healthy."

In need of a change, it bit harmlessly at her thumb, and then hooted. Again. And again, as it decided it would be more comfortable standing on her shoulder than on the arm of a cushioned chair. Go figure.

"Does it bother you that your owner may, by all means, be a psychopath?" After a time, she added: "Don't hoot, please. I tried, I really did, but as you can see I don't understand hooting."

It flapped its wings in annoyance, glaring at her for her lack of knowledge on the owl's dialect. She sighed, and decided to accept its strange manner of speaking in a way she could comprehend.

"If you hoot one time, it means 'yes'. Two times, it's a 'no'. How about that?"

It hooted one time and gently nudged at her ear.

"So... Does he expect a... a _reply_?"

No, he didn't expect one. That was a relief.

"You stayed here anyway," she frowned. "Was it because he asked you to watch me or something of that kind?"

Yes, it was. Although the owl held some hesitation before answering. It had slept during most of its time in her company, after all.

"Was he like that with Malfoy? With the 'I could have killed you but please don't die 'cause I'd be sad' part?"

It hooted two times and continued nudging at her earlobe.

"He wouldn't have been sad if Malfoy was to die, right?" She snickered. In normal circumstances she would have laughed out loud, but 'normal circumstances' wasn't the rightful description of the recent events.

It didn't feel the need to answer her, as it sensed it was a rhetorical question. It just flapped one of its wings as if it was stroking her hair with it.

"Do you have a name?"

It was so 'out of the blue' (no pun intended) the owl didn't stop flapping its left wing through her hair right away. Finally he neared her head even more, to 'murmur' two regretful hoots.

"Blue Wonder would fit you well, with your dark sky color. I wonder how I didn't pull out the link just by the sight of you."

It made itself more comfortable in the crook of her neck and began drifting off to dreamland again.

"I'll take that as a yes."

It rested even further under the mass of bushy hair, cuddling more into her neck, and she, in return, was able to blend completely into the feeling of blissit brought to her, forgetting, if only for a moment, the gravity of her situation.

"After all," she couldn't help but think as she seated herself on the cushioned chair, "it's nothing but a simple letter. He told me he wouldn't kill me. His obsession will never go beyond words."

She unconsciously wrapped herself in a tight ball, tilting her head to the side so she wouldn't bother the cute little owl asleep in-between her neck and shoulder, and peacefully welcomed her need to rest for a while.

The moonlight, through a window, gracefully complimented her porcelain face, her honey-brown curls, and her blue-feathery companion. Had anyone looked at her in that very moment, they would have felt a lonely tear rolling down their cheek, for it was a scene that represented too perfectly the beauty of sorrow.

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I can already assure you that I will do my best to update on time next time. I hope you liked the chapter... By the way, when on earth did we reach 86 reviews?!? Thanks to all of you who take the time, it's REALLY appreciated. Keep'em coming!

Featherstrike

...and D. and Firnoviel.


	13. Chapter 13: Head Girl Business

**Note:** Hello!!! Ok, I know it took forever to update, and I apologize, but I had a little problem with my beta reader and school doesn't make it any easier. So, to make it up to you (at least, I hope it will) here is the longest chapter yet!! And a very interesting one at that... ;) You'll see what I mean. Enjoy!

Chapter 13: Head Girl Business

"Greetings, Mrs Brown. What a lovely daughter you have! Quite charming, I dare say. I might only suppose there are more than just a few boys to court her."

Mrs Brown was beaming to say the least. "Social gatherings, such as balls," she had explained to her _lovely_ daughter, "are the best way to enter high class society without contracting a marriage." After all, Lavender had to be presented as a perfect opportunity for the male heirs; the Browns certainly didn't want to associate with poor people. The Weasley boy, for instance. What was his name again? Gerald? Herald? Whatever. Really, what was Lavender thinking, associating with a boy of such low status? Her daughter was very lucky Mrs Brown knew better. It was for her own good, really, if she had forbidden her to see him again. And a ball would take her mind off of these silly fabulations about love.

"You're making me blush, Imelda," she said in false modesty. "Where is your daughter, Hermione? Perhaps our children would like to chat away together. Lavender didn't fail to tell me they are of the same house at Hogwarts. Mine could show her some of her fashion tips she is so fond of."

Hermione's mother never failed to notice the –not so well– hidden insults in Elizabeth's empty words. In Imelda's opinion, Mrs Brown was a stain to any self-respecting wizard family, what with her shallow manners and 'holier than thou' attitude. She expressed the need to control everything; especially everything that had nothing to do with her. Such as other's balls. "You should paint your walls in green, with silver decorations. Slytherin style is very 'in' presently, and it would compliment very well with my darling Lavender's dress." Or "charming the lights so they focus on my daughter would be a very generous offer, Imelda." Completed with inquiring eyes and a more-than-a-glimpse of envy.

Back in their school time, Hermione's mother and her friends used to say that the only reason Elizabeth wasn't in Slytherin –with a treacherous tongue and ambition such as hers, you could start to wonder– aside from her paternal grandfather's muggle blood, was because she didn't possess any asset to obtain what she wanted.

Other times they would only enumerate what made her such an insufferable pest. Or speculate on the amount of money necessary for her to keep her friends.

Later on they made a game of guessing whether Elizabeth had chosen a love spell or a fantasy potion to be able to 'catch' herself a husband.

"Don't let her wait, Lisbeth. I'm sure she's dying to get alone time with Hermione." _Far away from you_, she wanted to add. Unfortunately, it wouldn't have been considered as _diplomatic_.

Lavender appeared out of the shadows of her mother –figuratively speaking, although it wouldn't have surprised anyone if it had been reality as well– flashed a quick, grateful smile at Imelda, before scampering off to the next room. Hermione was standing stiff, with the look of a condemned soul ready to get slaughtered.

"Hermione! I'm sooo happy to see you! Now I can _finally_ know what happened during your kidnapping!"

_Great. _"I'm happy to see you too," cringed Hermione with her biggest fake smile, which turned out looking more like a pained expression than one of joy.

"Are you okay?" Inquired a concerned Lavender.

Ignoring the need to answer that the mere presence of the girl irritated her to no limit, she quickly muttered a yes. And mentally prepared herself for the task to come; enduring Lavender's constant babbling.

"Won-Won is talking a lot about you, you know. Says you didn't send any letter and haven't responded to his. Sometimes, you know, it makes him sooo angry… cute little thing needs more than a good snuggling session, if you get my drift."

_Cute little thing_ needed more than a good _beating_, more likely. The cheating jerk was even lying to _Lavender_ about what had happened; she had no clue whatsoever about the reason they weren't on speaking terms. If she didn't pay attention she'd start _pitying_ the girl very soon. Hermione had sent her final letter about three days ago; there was no possible way he could NOT have received it yet. Her family owl had returned safe, unharmed, and with a reply.

"Lavender, I'm really sorry to bring this task upon you, but could you do something for me?"

Surprised, the shallow girl took some time to stop talking nonsense alone before enquiring what the favour was.

"I'd owe you very much if you would warn Ronald that if he so much as mentions my name again, I'll reveal what happened to the one that he doesn't want to be aware of the story."

"Who?"

She considered telling the truth, since it would be the cause of much torment to Ron –Lavender's curiosity was as famous as her love for gossip– but her good conscience won the battle by adding the threat of being tormented as well.

"You don't want to know. Can you do it?"

Pouting, lavender accepted the task only after she made Hermione swear to let her set up a make-up session before every Hogsmeade week-end at Hogwarts.

That promise marked the return of Hermione's Aaaaargh-filled thoughts.

oOo

The two girls had been quiet for some time now. Well, _quiet_ was always a _relative_ word; Lavender hadn't been able to stop creating noises, not by talking as one would have expected, but by swinging her legs back and forth, hitting the bottom of the chair each time. A sound which provided more than irritation to the poor Hermione, who was slowly losing her patience. Her white knuckles gripping her own legs were the best of testimony.

And then Lavender had sped up the leg movement.

"What is it that you're so eager to tell me?"

It had to be some stupid gossip, like every other times in the Gryffindor dorms. The day it would change was the day Lavender would get Head Girl.

"I made Head Girl!"

_The day it would change was the day Lavender would get Head Girl._

Pass the shock, Hermione was fuming. Why wasn't _she_ the Head Girl? She had the best results at school, a sense of responsibility most of the students were lacking, and was taking her studies to heart –for all she knew she was one of the few to do so.

"You're joking, right?"

She didn't want to sound rude, but the girl in front of her certainly did _not _possess the qualities of even a _prefect_. She hadn't been one in the beginning.

Had McGonagall accidentally swallowed a debiliting potion when she had assigned the Head's posts? Had she been threatened to do it? _Was she smoking some friggin' floo powder or what?_

"Isn't it exciting? I mean, I was sooo sure it'd be you, and then I received the letter, and _BOOM!_, you know? The revelation!"

A revelation indeed. Everyone would know the Headmistress had gone mental during the summer holidays.

"And I just can't _wait_ to share a dorm with Won-Won! Can you believe he got Head Boy? How wonderful can that be?"

_Or_ McGonagall had a bigger heart than what she let seen. This option would explain very well the 'stop the harassing thoughts about Ron from entering Hermione's mind' plan.

Bad Point #1: She wasn't Head Girl. Considering the fact that it had been her objective since –well, she couldn't exactly remember, but anyway– it was quite normal not to feel very happy about the news.

Bad Point #2: Lavender being the 'Chosen One' wasn't helping either. Pride injury.

Bad Point #3: Ron was Head Boy. Another insult to her pride.

Good Point #1: Ron was Head Boy. If she was lucky he'd be so absorbed with his duties that she wouldn't have difficulties avoiding him through the year.

Good Point #2: Without any Head Duties, she'd get plenty of time to help Harry in his search for the remaining Horcruxes.

Good Point #3: Maybe she could persuade Lavender to join SPEW. As a Head Girl, there would be plenty of visibility.

What was the point in accomplishing Bad Side/Good Side lists if she ended with as many good points as bad ones? Oh cruel, cruel world!

"Congratulations." That was the least she could do.

"Thank you!" beamed Lavender. She even went as far as to hug Hermione –up to the point she was practically strangling her. Luckily for her victim, Imelda's head appeared behind a door to announce that the guests were all waiting for her to start the dance. A dance she'd have to 'enjoy' with her betrothed.

Suddenly the idea of Lavender hugging her until she suffocated seemed strangely appealing to her.

"Coming," she murmured.

"You're so lucky! I mean, starting a dance? That's a dream!" squealed the other girl.

"Yeah, like you say, Lavender. A dream." A very, very bad dream of which she couldn't escape.

She got up, fidgeted with imaginary wrinkles in her deep green silky dress, took in an enormous gulp of air and walked down to what she considered to be her doom.

Malfoy was behind the door, waiting for her with a frown of anxiety that quickly transformed itself to a charming smile the second he saw her. He gently took her petite left hand in his abnormally pale one and kissed the tip of her fingers, as the pureblood dance rules recommended him to –the gesture sufficed to 'mark' her as 'his'. He then proceeded to lead her to the middle of the dance floor, his arm silently finding his way around her waist, preparing for the show.

"Relax, Granger," he soothingly breathed in her ear. "Think about it as the Yule Ball. You did pretty well on that night. You just have to do it again. Only one dance and you'll be free of me."

Strangely enough, his words provided her just enough courage to continue all the way down the middle of the crowd. But she'd need more if the constant murmurs and judging looks coming from the guests were to continue. She wasn't particularly shy, nor did she care about what others would think about her –far from it. She was just uneasy. She wasn't scared. Just overwhelmed.

She sensed him turning his body to face hers, pulling her out of a reverie. Without thinking, she gracefully placed her right hand, the ganted one, around his neck, brushing the tip of his platinum hair. The other hand took its place on his shoulder. The material of his tuxedo was the finest she had ever touched –it made the contact enjoyable, even if Malfoy was the one wearing it.

He, on his part, steadied them both by firmly placing his right hand on her side, and his left one was keeping her from escaping his grasp by pushing her into a sort of embrace –the position they were in could have looked like one of a couple about to kiss passionately in a dark corner of Hogwarts. All there was left to do was to wait for the—

Ah, there it was. The first song resonated on every wall, every diamond glass, and filled the room with grace and pure, sinless, untouched, deep emotion.

They looked in each other's eyes. She, with barely hidden anxiousness, while he just winked at her in self confidence.

The notes were ringing at their ears, alto, crescendo, and still they weren't moving. The crowd was looking in anticipation; mainly composed of accustomed people, they already knew how the dance would go. Some, testing their luck, had even gone off in search of a waiter for a refill of their current drink. The real action wouldn't be starting for about a minute or so; that was how true balls were to begin. The dance would start as soon as the piano would be heard amongst all of the several instruments of the orchestra. A single note to begin with, and a single note to finish it.

That was the way of a true pureblood ball. Tradition, tradition, and tradition until you no longer knew the meaning of your own acts.

In the middle of the dance floor, Hermione and Malfoy were still waiting. And silently whispering in something one could have recognised as a 'civil conversation':

"Are you scared, Granger?"

"Aren't you? I could always scream to rape attempt if you get on my nerves, Malfoy."

"I would be tempted to do just what you'd be accusing me of."

Her eyes widened for a second, but immediately returned to normal when she realized he surely didn't mean it. His expression hadn't changed. It was just a stupid and empty threat in retort to hers.

"Always the perfect gentleman I see."

"You're my fiancée. I can do anything I want to you now."

"Same goes for me," she replied with a charming smile.

He stopped himself from retorting an obscenity and instead answered:

"I won't let you down. Don't worry."

So he had sensed her agitation. He wasn't an oblivious jerk. Just a jerk. How sad. One fault down, a thousand more to go...

"I was just wondering how many slaps you'd get tonight is all."

Maybe he wasn't oblivious to her nervous state, but she wasn't obliged to show him he was right just like that.

"I love you too, honey," he replied with a sickly sweet face.

They didn't have the time to continue their exchanging of words, because at this same moment a single piano note filled the entire room.

_Let the show begin_... Whether these were their own thoughts or the impression of everyone around them, they would never know.

At first, the song was slow and gentle, letting the two adjust their pace and movements. Swirls, long embraces, the silk of a dress floating around the couple in dreamy fashion and hands caressing another body began to quicken; passive love slowly faded to heated passion and lust.

"Like it, Granger?" suavely asked Malfoy.

"Just shut up and dance," she aggressively responded.

He gladly executed the order, as the beat of the song continued to get even more intense. His hands cupped her face and lowered themselves down her neck, her shoulders, her arms, until they gripped her two wrists to allow her to bent back without falling. He pulled her back to him, lowered his face just inches from her chest and followed her left collarbone all the way up to the curve of her neck, exhaling a hot breath that sent shivers all over her body. She strengthened herself, pushed him away, a fiery look changing her features, a direct response to the hungry smirk playing on his lips. He held out his open palm to her, taking a step forward while she took one to keep the same distance between them. He roughly shortened it, however, by sliding towards her, and imprisoned her two hips in his grip; so he could lift her up and continue their uncommon exchange.

The dance had stopped dead on the same piano note that had started it all. Panting, sweating, they never bothered to look in the other's eyes, preferring to fix their gaze on the ballroom floor.

"You were, unlike... your normal self... very manly."

She tried regaining her breath while the orchestra began a second song, one that allowed the guests to dance in couples on slow, elegant beats. It took her almost a minute, in which laughing people swirled around her 'partner' and herself in graceful movements, and she could catch the bribes of congratulations about her and Malfoy's "incredible performance."

"I'll let that comment pass unnoticed if you offer me a drink."

And here she thought he liked to show off he possessed a fortune.

"If you get drunk on me or try anything, I swear I'll make your life a living hell... and considering the fact that we'll be living together, I'd be willing to say that you'll consider suicide very soon."

"How very threatening," he sneered. "I'm rubbing off on you, Granger."

"Not really. You're just annoyingly more _present_."

"Then allow me to be _present_ while you order my drink. We wouldn't want you to put something in it so you can take advantage of my ravishingly sexy god-like body."

At that point she got fed up and turned around, heading for the bar –certainly avoiding waiting for him. Hoping he'd lose her amongst the crowd and get stuck in it. She couldn't help but to chuckle as she imagined the expression of his face if he couldn't escape the grip of a particularly _fervent_ fan of his.

_Or_ he'd be able to stalk her right to the bar by grabbing her wrist in order not to get separated from her and stupidly lose his well-deserved drink.

"Stop clinging to me, Malfoy. People could get the wrong idea," she ordered somewhat disdainfully.

"Yeah. I mean, you're my fiancée. Why would I ever want to stay with you, I wonder... _people _could get the idea that we're setting the wedding date a little sooner!" he cruelly remarked, sarcasm _cascading_ from his voice. Yeah, _cascading_. Dripping wasn't enough of a near-descriptive word.

Leave it to him to get her in a depressed mood as soon as he opened his mouth. Deciding to get her mind off of his troublesome existing self, she called for the barmaid, showing her ganted hand, as it arbored the Vandemoortele crest in fine embroidery. As one of the house inhabitants, she could get unlimited free drinks –as well as many other things offered during the soirée.

"What will you have, my lovely lady?"

A charming bartender he was. Tall, dark and handsome 20-years-old-or-so guy. In other words, the stereotypical Adonis every girl would fawn over, even in the presence of their fiancé. And, oh! who was that by her side? Her dear, _pleasant_ companion, Malfoy. Oh, the fun she could have, if she just provided the effort...

"I'd have you, but you're not on the menu," she seductively eyed him –wanting to puke inwardly, since such disgusting behaviour was so below her level– earning another of his white smiles. "So I'll settle with a peach and strawberry daiquiri."

"And a Dragonbreath for me," added Malfoy. She looked at him with renewed surprise. A Dragonbreath was more serious a drink than firewhiskey could ever pretend to be; and although it was mildly refreshing –on the same level as butterbeer it was said– it was such strong wizard alcohol that she doubted a seventh-year student would know how to handle it.

"And a _glass of water_ for him," she finished. There was _no frigin' way_ she'd let him get drunk out of his mind on her account, in her house. In their own engagement party –no friggin' way.

"The unfortunate lady has trouble hearing. It's her age, most likely. Dragonbreath on her account," Malfoy rectified with his trademark smirk. Back to his rude, prejudiced, egocentric self again.

"Sorry, lad, but the lady's the one with the last word since she's the one ordering and all that stuff," apologised the bartender with his normal 100 watts smile. Which was growing on her nerves for no reason. And since she couldn't see any reason to her irritation she was most likely to get fed up and explode.

"Graaaaanger," said Malfoy in a sing-song voice contrasting highly with the evil eye he was sending her.

"Yes?" She wasn't scared. She had the upper hand and she knew it –it didn't matter if it was just the drink, she had the upper hand and that was that.

So why was she subtly moving her chair away from him?

"I said I didn't want you drunk, Malfoy," she repeated in what she hoped was a firm voice.

"Malfoys can handle a little alcohol."

How could a stated fact sound so... threatening?

Her lips twitched as she pondered on whether she had to succumb to his anger or to stand up to avoid any humiliating scene. Seen in this light, it sounded more like: 'Do I get killed, or allow him to be the laughing stock of this party?' The choice wasn't so difficult when you looked at it this way.

"Dragonbreath. Tiniest glass you possess," she instructed the handsome barmaid.

"Here ya go, m'lady," he said after a mere second. There was her own drink –which was a very, very tasty pink colour– and to its side was a strange-looking glass, made like an elongated upside-down flask about a foot high, and the steaming, 'glow-in-the-dark' green liquid it contained was giving Hermione the creeps.

She eyed his Dragonbreath as if it was about to turn into acid.

"Thank you," she finally managed to mumble to Bob –she was tired of thinking about him as only 'the bartender,' so she had mentally named him Bob until further notice. She didn't leave the sight of Malfoy's glass, even when she herself began to sip at her own drink, even when her nemesis took it to his lips and gulped half of it in the flick of a wrist, even when he finished it with the next one. There were still droplets of steam sliding on the translucent surface, and she just _had_ to glue her eyes to them.

"Hermione. You _must_ help me with my duties _now_! McGonagall just sent them by owl and I'm sooo tired right now and I thought you could do me a favour and—are you listening?"

Lavender, in her whining girly voice, had successfully achieved her goal of getting Hermione out of her torpor and darkening her mood even more. She sighed loudly, took her daiquiri with her and was preparing to follow the helpless Lavender –if she was lucky this favour would cancel at least one make-up session she had previously promised the girl– when she sensed a hold on her shoulder. Malfoy.

Was it his new job to grab her every ten seconds?

Warily, she turned around, fixing her gaze into his grey orbs, full of intelligence, but still so… innocent. And serious. Contrasting with every descriptive insult she could have come up with in the past six years of school.

"What?" she managed to ask.

He didn't say a word, just looked at her directly in the eyes. And when he finally broke both his eye contact and his hold of her shoulder, he motioned for her to go and followed after her.

oOo

It turned out the duties Lavender was so worried about were in fact the instructions she'd have to follow when in the Hogwarts Express. A meeting with the prefects, a little patrolling, and everything would be well and all right.

By the time Hermione had succeeded in calming Lavender, who was hysteric because she had "caused so much trouble for nothing and wasted their time together and since they made such a cute couple it was a very bad idea," etc, etc, the ball was over, except a few late guesses –mainly Slytherin sixth and seventh years– that wanted Malfoy's autograph.

"You could have helped me instead of just watching," she accused him when they left the teary-eyed Gryffindor.

"It's much more fun to see you struggle for breath," he cruelly remarked, referring to the multiple times she had nearly choked when receiving hugs after hugs.

"Party's over, Malfoy," she stated. And to these words she left him standing in the middle of the dance floor, staring at her retreating back as she climbed the stairs one by one, in a very tired fashion.

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Well?? How was it? I really hope you liked it, cause I sure enjoyed writing it! Anyway, I will try and make sure the next update is on time... it seems I say that a lot lately. XD Thanks for the reviews!

Featherstrike

... and D. and Firnoviel


	14. Chapter 14: Meeting the Family

**Note:** Omg... I'm still alive!! Yes, and so is the story! There are absolutely no excuses that could make up for my long absence. All I can say is that I'm sorry, but I really appreciate it if you still keep on reading me. I have a few chapters already written now, so updates should be more frequent (it won't take 6 months, I swear). Now that this is said, on with the story.

Chapter 14: Meeting The Family

The two girls sat cross-legged on Hermione's bed, each sporting a very annoyed look on their faces.

"Our lives suck," resumed Ginny after their hour-long rant about boys. Namely Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley. One would know which of the boys had been mentioned first by each girl.

"Yeah. It really stinks," agreed Hermione.

"I can't live my life with Harry even though we love each other..."

"... and I have to live my life with Malfoy even though we can't stand each other."

"It sucks," repeated Ginny after minutes of silence.

"Indeed."

There was nothing more to say. They had resumed their problems in a simple sentence and they couldn't do anything else but to agree with what they had previously stated.

"School starts tomorrow," said Hermione, in an attempt to change the subject.

"It sucks even more, then. I'll see him everyday," brooded Ginny.

For once in her life, she couldn't agree more with her girl friend. Hermione wasn't as excited as she should have been at the prospect of her return to Hogwarts. She wasn't Head Girl, she'd get married during her first Hogsmeade weekend, she would endure make-up sessions with Lavender, and she and Ginny would be confronted with their guy troubles each dreaded day.

"It's noon already. I have to go. And you should, too, before he comes to get you," sighed her friend. Of course, it _had_ to be noon. No time left for her to flee to a foreign country and change her identity forever. She hopped from her bed, immediately followed by her fiery red-haired friend, and they quickly bid each other goodbye. They'd reunite again at the train station anyway. There was no point in dragging it out.

Hermione was left alone in her room until Malfoy would dare show his untrustworthy face. That is, in exactly ten minutes.

There was a weight on her shoulders that kept bringing her down and it was only _his_ fault. Even worse; she sensed she wasn't able to hate him anymore. It could very well become a problem if she continued like that.

She hadn't been able to hate him since day one. She had pitied him, yes. He had disgusted her, exasperated her, yes. But she couldn't bring herself to hate him. She couldn't even hate _Voldemort_, for God's sake! Because hating someone truly was something only an evil, desperate being could manage to do.

She had enjoyed dancing with him –of course, it had ceased the moment he had returned to his old self– and she clearly remembered the fluttering feeling that had occurred when he had proposed –even if he had done so in the most unflattering manner possible. Every time she saw him, she had a glimpse of her own failure. She felt drawn to his eyes and it disgusted her even more than his sickening behaviour. When they were arguing at his manor she had felt lust towards him and it was a completely horrible thing to even think about now. How shallow... his body was definitely perfect and she felt drawn to _it_. She couldn't even stand him but she felt drawn to his stupidly handsome body. Damn quidditch.

One could have called it a crush, but she was completely out of these silly little school-girl fantasies. Really, she was.

And she certainly wasn't nervous about who they were going to visit either.

"Oh Granger, I didn't know you were so shallow... or is it that you finally noticed that the size of your head is twice as big as normal?"

_Of course_ he had to come in early, enter her bedroom without knocking, and scare her to death with an insult before she could have the time to analyze what was happening.

"About time you saw me. I thought you'd _drown_ in that mirror of yours if you continued looking at your reflection like this," he huffed, affronted that she had ignored him for such a long time.

She hadn't realized she had been staring at her own self in the mirror while she was thinking until two seconds ago. She looked into the reflecting glass, wondering what it was that had drawn her to it.

"Do we really have to—"

"Yes," he cut her off in a tone that made it perfectly clear that there would be no other choice.

"We could just—"

"No." He didn't let her finish again, because he already knew what she was going to say. It was quite predictable, really, seeing what he had asked her to do with him.

"Can't you—"

"No, I won't go alone," he answered before she had the time to complete her question. "Besides, it would be pretty difficult for me to present my future wife to my father when she's not accompanying me," he drawled, again bringing forth her 'obligations' as _his_ betrothed.

"You don't need his approval. Thus we could just forget about Lucius and leave him die in excruciating mental pain," she suggested with a malicious glimpse of despair.

"As appealing as you make it appear, Granger... the answer is still the same. You will visit my father today, in my company, and without further protest or I'll be forced to silence you yet again."

His answer had been cold, detached, but somehow she suspected he had tried not to go ballistic on her. She hadn't spoken of his father's situation with the best of tact or delicacy, and she may have subconsciously insulted his pureblood family ego, or something akin to that.

She swore it would be the last time she'd propose to forget about any rule, be it a school regulation or a marriage law. Exception made for the 19th one, of course, because she planned to get rid of that one very, _very_ soon.

She sighed, defeated. She wasn't in the mood to fight, today. She wasn't willing to move either, though. A cruel dilemma indeed. Would she choose fighting or moving?

Perhaps moving would prove less demanding. And she'd get to see Lucius in misery –she didn't hate anyone, but she surely didn't love the Death Eaters. Maybe it'd be a show worth seeing, although she knew she wouldn't be able to enjoy it.

At least she could reassure Harry. He always worried about New Azkaban's security; dementors _enjoyed_ the freezing air in altitude, and the now ever-floating air-traveling jail seemed to content them enough in that area to give them a bit more power. "They're more difficult to tame than furious bulls on steroids," joked Dean, Ginny's boyfriend for the past month.

It turned out he was right, after all.

"I'd suggest you wear a coat. It'll be cold out there."

'No kidding,' she thought. Did he imagine she was an ignorant four-year-old? Azkaban was floating about two kilometres high in the skies, _of course_ it'd be cold! What a moron...

She grabbed her worn-out long winter coat, her Gryffindor scarf and gloves –it would annoy him to some extent– and after a moment of hesitation, took the broken silver watch and the matching cigarette box that had belonged to the Pure –or the First, or whoever it was– to put them in her pockets. She wasn't willing to visit Lucius without so much as an object to help her remember she wasn't an inferior being. It was the way she felt around him. And if these objects had the same effect on him than they had on his son, it'd lessen her uneasiness a great deal.

"Why are you bringing these with you?" Malfoy brutally asked, in a half-angered, half-scared fashion. She still couldn't fathom the reason they bothered him so, but one day it would soon be clear as crystal... and she was waiting for this since her floo-powder accident.

She didn't bother to answer him. She had enough of a hard time controlling her urge to laugh at his fearful expression. Surprisingly enough she managed to conceal it very well, and he returned to his trademark smirk without a second glance at the two objects.

"We'll have to perform a side-apparition," he informed her. Hence the smirk.

She lost all the colour she had left. They would be... close. Argh. That was infuriating. Somehow she was sure he did everything in order to aggravate her. She didn't know _how_ he managed to do it, but he did.

"Come on, Granger. Come hug your beloved fiancé," he cruelly joked, hands reaching towards her.

"Pig," she just had the time to spit, before he swiftly _jumped_ on her, imprisoning her in his arms. The side-apparition was so quick but still so awkward that she lost whatever the thought was she had prepared to share with him. She let it die in the back of her throat as she stared at the place he had brought her to.

Although it was little past noon, the luminosity was close to none. It was a relatively small field, about the size of an elephant, bordered by threateningly close black, rotten, half-dead trees. There were no leaves on the ground, just blackened yellow grass that hadn't seen the sun for an eternity. There was an eerie muffled singing that came from around them, vaguely sounding like a child lullaby, but the atmosphere of the place made it appear as though it was threatening. As she looked up at the sky, hoping to see at least a bit of blue, or a cloud that would reassure her of a more inviting existence, she could see nothing more than an immense, tarnished floating soil that could only support one thing: New Azkaban. The bottom of the structure standing in midair, about the size of an entire island, sometimes let drops of earth fall like rain on the surface beneath it; the field where Hermione and Malfoy were standing, for instance.

There seemed to be no way out—and even no way _in_—the gloomy jail. Nervous, she glanced in Malfoy's direction, who had distanced himself from her as soon as they had arrived. He seemed to be waiting for something or someone, so she supposed that this mystery person would know how to enter the dreaded place. Meetings between the prisoners and the outsiders were made on specific appointments; maybe they were waiting for a guard that held a portkey of some sort?

They waited in uncomfortable silence for another 10 minutes before they could see a silhouette appearing out of nowhere, heading towards them. The shadow became clearer and clearer until they were able to guess it was a short man who, from their point of view, seemed to be sporting a _jelly-ish_ thing on his head.

"Mr. Malfoy and his wife, I presume?" said the dwarf in a squeaky, annoyingly big voice.

How dare he...! _Wife?_ Had he called her Malfoy's _wife_? Aaaaaargh! The stupid ferret had played with words again!

"I would appreciate it if you could make it quick," sort-of commanded her insufferable companion.

"Of course, of course," agreed the little man as he finally reached them. Indeed, there really was a _blob thing_ on his head. Hermione had the distinct impression that this man was crazier than any of the prisoners currently in Azkaban.

"Let me lead the way, then. Let me lead the way." He motioned for them to follow him, wearing a creepy smile that made Hermione shudder. This guy was entirely creepy. Who but a creepy smiling dwarf would wear a jell-o hat?

But they followed him despite his strange way of being. The little man had taken a ridiculously narrow path where roots and branches made it nearly impossible to walk through. When they finally reached their destination, Hermione had stumbled upon everything possible, had earned herself a few bruises, and two bold cuts hadn't stopped bleeding on her left cheek. Malfoy, who had been walking behind her all the way, looked as perfect as always, save for a misplaced wisp of hair.

"Here, here. Can you see them?" The strange man asked each of them, pointing somewhere behind them.

"Of course," scoffed Malfoy.

Hermione couldn't see a thing: "What are you talking about?"

"What? Can't you see them?" said Malfoy, surprised.

"See what?"

"Those big, black... horse thingies!" he exclaimed.

And then everything clicked. _Thestrals_. But what in the world... had he seen someone die? There had been some casualties in the last days of school, before _it_ had happened, but everyone had remained alive. No lifeless bodies. And he hadn't even been there, the Slytherins' Common Rooms were too far away from the Astronomy Tower.

But she couldn't ask him anything yet. Maybe it was a sensitive subject, she didn't know. Did not want to know for now, either.

"They're thestrals, Malfoy."

He apparently understood why they had remained invisible to her.

"There are only two of them," he said, quite confused, to the creepy dwarf, who nodded his head in his creepy way before answering:

"Yes, yes. I guide you, beautiful newlyweds."

_What the...?_ Oh, right. The little one had a thestral for himself, but _they_ had to share. Curse the day she was born if destiny had really wanted her to live through this.

"God, help me," she pleaded under her breath.

"I'll help you alright. No need to lower me to the level of a mere god," sniggered Malfoy, as he had somehow heard her.

"God, I hate you!" she murmured, meaning both the real and the self-proclaimed one. Luckily Malfoy did not hear that one.

She was really glad about her choice of clothing today. First thing in the morning she had asked herself whether to wear her denim skirt or the pair of pale jeans her brother had offered her –they had received an order of those for a trip to the muggle world a witches-only school had planned. She couldn't even imagine what it would have been like, wearing a skirt while riding a thestral with Malfoy.

Speaking of the devil, she had been so engrossed in her horror-movie-like skirt situation that he had been forced to lift her on the black creature before mounting it himself. He was even getting to the point where he had to secure her position by sliding her arms around his waist when she had woken up from her reverie.

It was his fault if she had accidentally hit him when she had freaked out. He just had to say he was about to help her... or not. She would have freaked out to this too. Anyway, she would certainly not apologise. It was his own fault and that was it.

"Don't leave my sight! Don't leave my sight, dears!"

Would he stop repeating himself or was the damn dwarf enjoying his giving people the chills by acting like that?

They left the ground at once just when she had snuck her arms around Malfoy by herself. He seemed as tense as she was with the closeness of their position, as she could judge from his stiffness. She reassured herself by thinking that the trip wouldn't last more than two minutes before they'd reach New Azkaban.

The more they approached the fortress, the more she gripped his waist –she was not conscious he was near dying before he began gasping loudly for air. She did not like flying or seeing dementors. And the fact that she was doing all this in order to follow his will of presenting her to his father just because the stupid pureblood traditions said so was not comforting in the least. And so she continued on enlacing him with her death grip while being careful not to choke him again.

There was a long bridge-platform that led to the only entrance of the cold place; at the sides were "stables" where half a dozen thestrals were looking at them with cannibalistic, hungry malevolent eyes –but Hermione greatly doubted this last part since Malfoy had told it with more mockery than what he had the habit to use with her. He helped her get off of their beast without a hint of delicacy.

"Relax, Malfoy. I'm not a potato sack. Throwing me on the floor will not heighten my acting skills in pretending I'm madly in love with your father's ideals."

He shot her a furious glare and she couldn't help but to snicker. Oh, he wasn't so proud now, was he? Poor little lamb on his way to visit the big bad wolf… It was a shame he had decided to bring her along too. What, did he think she had developed suicidal tendencies over night?

"Oh! OH! The shame! I forgot to take out your wands!" whimpered the creepy dwarf with the jell-o hat. She'd name him Gideon. And John would be the blob monstrosity on his head.

Gideon extended his arm, expecting them to hand out their only defence against the horrors of the place. Hermione looked lovingly at her wand before handing it out to their guide, feeling like a mother abandoning her child. She didn't enjoy the feeling. And she was growing colder. She could easily imagine her rosy cheeks or blue lips… she unconsciously wrapped her arms tightly around herself, even if she knew it wouldn't help her any.

Malfoy was having trouble leaving his wand in the hands of a stranger, much less to a stranger that was acting like a crazed maniac. But he had no choice, really. He hadn't come that far to suddenly turn around and flee like the coward his father had always thought he was. His anger towards Lucius' bad opinion of him sufficed to decide him in the end. He wasn't a coward. And he was free, now, while his father was sentenced to pass the rest of his cursed life in there: Azkaban. When you really thought about it, there was no place near as appropriate as Azkaban for a man like his father. A black man without a conscience deserved to be in a place without hope. There was no pitying him now. _It was just the way things were supposed to be_.

"You follow me, young couple. Follow me!" the dwarf ordered them, occasioning a grateful sigh from Hermione. Was she freezing so much that she wished to enter that dreadful place now? Malfoy couldn't help but wonder. Couldn't he just have ignored the pureblood traditions for once, and content himself to present her formally to his mother?

No, he needed not to think about such disobedience. He had to follow the stupid dwarf along with Granger and confront his father. And maybe mock him if he had any chance before the visit ended. He wouldn't have any other occasion to gloat in Lucius' face. Certainly not when he had a public –Granger was only one person, but a public nonetheless.

"I leave you to the care of young Helen here. I will leave you to her so she can guide you through the maze and protect you from the dementors with her strange ways. Strange ways she has! Can you believe she is able to cast a patronus?"

The two teenagers didn't utter a word because no comment needed to be said. Crazy, creepy, odd dwarf who found it amazing for one to be able to cast a patronus.

"Please, follow me," commanded a rich, soothing voice coming out of nowhere. Rather, it seemed like it came out of nowhere until she gradually appeared out of the wall. Oh God, she was a ghost able to cast a patronus.

What was the world coming to?

"Hurry up, dears! We mustn't be late for it would get him mad, and we don't want that just now, don't we? No, not until his trial is finished and this odd one is finally sentenced…" she spoke to herself from the moment she had told the first sentence. Was it possible that dementors had rendered her crazy as well? If she could cast a spell, maybe they had an effect on her as they did on living beings… or maybe she had been mad from the beginning, like Gideon. They would never know.

When finally they stopped in front of a door marked 'IX,' Helen informed them that she would return in about 15 minutes and that until then, a derived version of muggle surveillance cameras would, well… survey them. But she assured them that if there was a problem she'd go for help right away.

Such reassuring words indeed.

Malfoy didn't falter a second when he pushed the door open, nor did he when he entered the room and motioned for her to enter as well. But she knew perfectly well that this was just one of his many illusions. His mask of indifference was too perfectly imitated to be true.

"Hello, father," he declared at last. She had been afraid he'd never say anything when she had seen him so absorbed in his observation of the prostrated figure in one of the room's corners. Lucius Malfoy, favoured Death Eater of Lord Voldemort, wasn't the proud –scratch that, sickly arrogant– man he had once been; his prisoner clothes may have been made out of dust; that would have explained a lot of things. Namely his desperate appearance or the floating 'old and abandoned scary mansion' smell that lingered through the room. He didn't look at them, but he did lift his eyes in her direction. He didn't see her.

A hand in her pocket, she gripped one of the two Pure's objects she had brought with her. She wasn't _invisible_. She wasn't an _inferior_.

Finally he returned to looking like his old self, minus the arrogant smirk –he couldn't manage to draw that one out now.

"Hello, my son," he greeted, his rich voice filling the cell. She shivered at the sound, griping the Pure's object tighter. She recognised it as the silver pocket-watch, the one with too many hands that spun either too rapidly or too slowly, sometimes even in the wrong direction.

"What has made you come to me, Draco?" A commanding voice, a powerful one. And a question that hadn't been said out loud. What was this girl doing with him?

"As the pureblood traditions command me to," explained his son, lifting his chin to give himself some courage to speak, "I have come in search of your approval for my betrothed, Hermione Granger Vandemoortele." Draco took her left hand to his lips when having said so, and she made no move to protest as he had explained how important it was that his father thought her worthy of a Malfoy. Thus she needed to appear obedient –if she provided enough effort, he had promised he'd ask Lucius about the Blue Owl Lunatic.

She lowered her gaze. She couldn't bear looking at Lucius Malfoy in such a way –and he'd guess how she really felt towards him and his side of the war. How she wasn't an obedient and shallow wife that would obey to his son's every desire.

"Tell me, Draco," said his father after a long silence. "Tell me why you did come here with your betrothed."

Hermione looked up at him for a split second, curious. Her gaze shifted to her fiancé; still he had his perfect mask on. The one she could see through only when she didn't need to.

"Like I just told you, father, I…" He was quickly cut off by an angry Lucius.

"TELL ME THE TRUTH, YOU UNWORTHY SON!"

They both jumped at the sound of his frustration, but he wasn't finished yet.

"Tell me you did not come here to watch your father in such a position? To gloat in my face?"

'I'm entering a very_ convivial, trusting and loving _family', thought Hermione, glad to see her prejudices against the Malfoys reveal themselves as true.

"Has your mother been imprisoned too, to excuse her lack of visits? Can you not help a father that raised you with every rightful principle, every lesson that you needed? I TAUGHT YOU THE WAYS OF A TRUE MALFOY, DRACO! I taught you how the world really worked, I introduced you to the Crabbes and the Goyles and the Parkinsons so you could learn to think like you do, like a pureblood! A PUREBLOOD, Draco, who understood the ways of the Death Eaters, the SUPERIORITY of his RACE!" He was shouting more than she had been prepared for, and not for the reasons she had first come up with. No one had visited him since his imprisonment. _But it was just the way things were supposed to be_, murmured a voice in the back of her head.

"I _did_ come here to seek your approval of my fiancée," the son maintained after he had regained his composure, "but it is true that I didn't come here just for pureblood traditions, as much as I respect them."

Lucius waited for him to continue, as he had returned to his previous poised self.

"I wanted to ask you to tell me about one of your dearest friends that has not been arrested yet. He owns a blue owl."

His father looked sternly in his direction, but made no move to signify he recognised the guy. And with that feeble description Hermione wasn't so surprised.

She considered telling everything she knew about the guy, but then her act of obedience wouldn't survive. Interiorly grunting, she tiptoed to Malfoy, nudged at his shoulder so he would lower his head, and she whispered in his ear the information she was able to remember.

Her father-in-law switched his eyes in her direction and he sneered approvingly. 'The wife that could only speak through her husband's mouth' was a play she had seen too much when living with her adoptive parents. But it was the kind of act one expected to be praised by Lucius Malfoy.

Her companion looked at her, eyebrow elegantly raised in silent wonder. She just nodded, encouraging him to display his newly acquired knowledge.

"This man had a daughter, but she died about 10 or 11 years ago. I think one of his aunts is named Emily. He never used the killing curse because he thinks it isn't exciting enough, and he could very well be obsessive over girls like Hermione here."

She perceived a sudden recognition in Lucius' eyes, but he feigned ignorance: "I am in no position to answer such a question, Draco. I do not know this one you are talking about."

Did she really have to do everything for him? How could he believe his father just like… that? Stupid ferret!

"He lies," she murmured in her future husband's ear, once again playing her role of the 'ideal wife' to perfection. Brusquely he turned to meet her gaze with his own; he changed from unbelieving and surprised to a form of anger –anger that she hoped was aimed at his father, not her.

"Your mouth twists reality, father."

Lucius, upon seeing that the two teenagers knew more than what he'd have wished, returned to looking like a rag in his corner of the room.

"You are not searching for a _man_ I know," he cruelly laughed before imprisoning himself in his own silence.

Hermione sensed she had grown cold to the bone. Not a_ man_? She thought. And thought, and thought, and thought, and… well you get my drift. _A girl_? No, it didn't appear like a girl's writing. It was too childish, too sloppy. _Maybe a kid_? No, he said he had had a little girl. _Maybe it was a humanoid?_ It made sense… Stupid Malfoy Sr., talking in riddles. Aaaaargh.

With a look of disgust –directed at his father– occupying every parcel of his face, Malfoy forcefully grabbed her upper arm and immediately dragged her outside of the room. It was so difficult to "follow" him –she didn't really have a choice, what with his iron grip on her arm– with his quick, furious steps that she had to stumble several times, and dodge unexpected columns that kept appearing out of nowhere. "Where are we going?" she asked, in a panicked voice. She did not recognise the halls. They were dull grey, so unlike the white stones she remembered seeing while they were walking to Lucius' cell. Draco didn't stop, quickened his trot even.

"Malfoy, stop! We're not supposed to be here, we should have waited for Helen to―"

"Yes, Granger, we _should have_! We_ should have_ waited for Helen, we _should have_ turned left maybe, we _should have_ brought veritaserum for that scumbag to tell us the truth, but what we _should have_ done _hasn't_ been done, so stop whining!"

She had hit a nerve without knowing it. Touchy. But he was so frustrated he wasn't a threat anymore; his anger was clouding his judgement. It would have been the main reason of their being lost in the halls of New Azkaban, frozen, alone, and without a wand to call for help. She felt colder than what reason permitted; and she somehow knew that it wasn't the cool air but rather the near presence of the dementors that was affecting her.

And dementors, on their part, had somehow understood that new, fresh prey, had entered their territory, outside of any protection a guardian of the prison would have been able to provide.

They swam in the direction of the two teenagers, one very aware of their approach.

"M-Malfoy," she stuttered, stiff from both the cold and apprehension.

"I know," he responded through gritted teeth. Having stopped running through the unknown corridors he was getting less and less comfortable in the icy air.

The first dementor came into view, at the opposite side of the hall, about fifty feet ahead maybe. The others would be coming soon, and it was inevitable; the two suddenly found the other's presence very comforting and they hugged each other close, on a primal instinct for reassurance.

God, they couldn't even say they were already dead because the dementors would leave them as zombies after their kiss. It was the worst death they had ever imagined they would get… and they were about to experience it in less than a minute.

"When I say 'go' we run for our lives," suggested Malfoy.

"They're surrounding us," she countered.

"Well then, we should scream for our lives," he said, sarcastic.

"There's no one around here to save us," she mechanically retorted.

"I say you stay here and do the bait while I escape –I mean, while I go get help."

"You're being delusional now. Maybe you –aaaagh!"

The dementors had approached quite rapidly and one of them had begun sucking her soul already. "Granger!" he screamed, panicked. A second dementor stacked her, and a third, a fourth –he hadn't been touched, but he wasn't relieved. He realised he was still holding her by the arm, his arm gripping the fabric of her coat, and it was the only thing that kept her standing.

She couldn't find the strength in herself to cry, to express the pain; she was way past that. Of course she sensed it; like she was being shredded to pieces, over and over again, that she was being reduced to ashes, or skinned alive. But all at the same time she did not feel anything. Her nerves had most likely hit _overdrive_ and her brain too. She could hear Malfoy's breathing and she would have laughed if she had possessed the strength, just like she wished she would have cried. She saw his left hand moving from her arm to her face –so he had been holding her all along then? Well, he was quite the gentleman. It was such a shame she was not going to live to tell it to the world, that indeed there was hope for him to have a heart.

Malfoy was afraid. He had laid her on the ground because he had sensed she would collapse soon; gripping her arm with one hand, steadying her by the waist with the other. He was breathing hard, standing over her, his face inches from her face. He quickly shot it back, however, when he saw something, a ball of light, coming out of her open mouth- her soul. She was leaving her own body, and he hadn't been touched by the swirling dementors yet.

"Shit!" he tried to scream. It came out as a strangled sound, one that came of his holding back the tears. She seemed paler when exposed to the light of her soul. He towered over her again, leaving his hand on her arm to touch her face, to see how cold she was.

It was all very slow, his hand approaching. She had the time to think. It was stupid. She had forgotten to send Harry's gift, it was in her drawer. Would someone find it, her brother, her father? Surely they would understand it was for one of her friends. She had no use for a snitch replica.

Would she have a burial? She would not be _physically_ dead, after all. Maybe the Ministry workers would figure something out. If they captured her body maybe they could kill it and be done with the funerals. Would the Avada Kedavra work on her soulless corpse? All interesting questions but she would not be able to reach for the answers.

His hand was two inches away from her forehead. He wanted to check if she had temperature? Maybe if she was ill the dementors would reject her soul.

Speaking of soul, she was being taken away from her physical envelope and it was very distressing to say the least. She could barely recognise herself. And Malfoy looked genuinely concerned –and panicked. She would not hold grudge against him for his being more fearful for his life than being concerned about her health.

He hated her, anyway. That made him an evil and desperate bastard. She would have liked figuring out what he was desperate for, though.

One inch away. She would not see her whole life passing before her very eyes, because she was not about to die. It would be much, much worse.

Three quarters of inch away now. Why was she measuring the distance between his hand and her face? It was quite stupid… and useless, too. But it helped pass the time somehow.

Half an inch away. Why was she not completely destroyed? Dementors were sucking her soul away. She should have felt something else than pain. The freezing air, perhaps. Instead she felt warmth encircling her. And she could almost see her soul getting back to her body. Strange, she thought she was a goner.

Perhaps Helen had sensed they were in danger and had come to their rescue. Highly unlikely, but she did not see the time passing.

A third of an inch. Why was Malfoy not affected by the dementors? He should have been in pain too, just like her.

Okay, now she was being selfish. She still possessed her good thoughts, her happy memories. It confused her.

He touched her forehead with his left hand, which was soon joined by the other, and he held her face in his pale fingers. Maybe if he held her enough she would return alive and well, soul and body reunited.

But what did it matter? He was going to die anyway.

It was all his father's fault. If he had helped them correctly instead of coming up with some random words he, Draco, wouldn't have needed to get as far away as possible and then get _lost_.

He had gotten lost because Lucius had made him angry and it clouded his vision.

He was about to die, or get a dementor kiss, and it was entirely his father's fault. He did not even get his approval about his betrothal.

The first attack on his person came, as he had expected. However, none followed. It ached.

Hermione's soul was getting back to her body and the dementors seemed desperate to stop it from continuing.

If they weren't about to attack them two at the same time, perhaps they'd be saved. It gave him some hope, and a new strength.

"Forgive me, Granger," he murmured, as he lowered his head towards her own.

And he took her in his arms, bridal style, while her soul took the last step to re-enter her body. The dementors would not abandon their prey, however. They would not touch him while at it; if he was quick enough they would get near Helen, or another guardian able to cast a patronus.

Hermione cried in pain when he picked her up, her senses coming back to her with her soul, but he was not about to let her down. He wasn't a coward. And he certainly was not like his father.

One of his hands brushed against one of hers, and he got hold of it. Her fingers were cold, but her palm was burning to the touch.

He felt warm, too. He stopped from his feeble escape attempt, stopped running, walking, or whatever he had been doing. He looked down at her tortured expression, and he had just the time to close his eyes before the light overcame his senses.

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Again, thanks to everyone who waited and stuck by me! ;)

P.S. This is for you P.-A.:P

Featherstrike


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